The Magic Spell You Cast
by MadAuntieKeith
Summary: Kieren is tired of covering his pale skin because his job demands it, but he sees no other way- that is until the day he meets Simon Monroe, who treats his bare face like the purest form of treasure. Model/Photographer AU, loosely based on We'll Take Manhattan.
1. Chapter 1

**Guess who should be writing Broken Masks and is instead wasting her time on silly AUs? Yeah... it's me.**

**So, for your reading pleasure until I get round to updating my proper stuff, here's a model/photographer Siren AU for your eyes- two more chapters of this to come!**

**Most of you will notice snippets of dialogue taken from the show itself, interspersed with original stuff as well of course, but there are also several lines/plot devices that have been inspired by We'll Take Manhattan- a BBC Four film about the relationship between David Bailey and Jean Shrimpton (a model and photographer from the 60s) and their iconic New York photo shoot. I was watching it the other day and thought how well some of the elements could work with Siren, so that's what I've got- I'd heartily recommend watching it if you've got the time. It has Karen Gillan as Jean and she's very good in it, so yeah, give it ago! And the title comes from 'La Vie en Rose' by Louis Armstrong- no real reason, I mean it might appear in a later chapter but I just really love the song.**

**So yeah, that's about it! For the purposes of this fic Kier and his family live in a house somewhere on the outskirts of London, and everyone who was undead in the series is undead in this (but Amy is most definitely not re-deaded, so don't worry, I'm going AU where it counts!), and I know I said it's based on that film but it still takes place in the modern day.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

It was a familiar feeling, the cover-up slathering over his skin. The strange part was the hand applying it- he couldn't quite get used to having someone else to cover his face for him. Well, a professional shoot needed a professional touch.

He didn't know why he wasn't used to it yet- he'd been in the job for close to six months, now. It wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence. He'd have to come to accept it sooner or later.

His gaze wondered up from his reflection in the mirror as his assigned make-up artist (a contagiously jolly woman called Shirley) carefully blended the mousse onto his skin, and up to the posters on the wall. This dressing room had been a staging post for many of the great PDS models over the last few years (of course, words like 'great' weren't often thrown around when referring to the undead, and even then only in relation to _other _PDS sufferers. It was an unfortunate truth he had just come to live with), and their striking (and mousse-covered) faces stared down from frames on the walls. His eyes wondered to the end of the row of framed magazine covers, past beautiful men and women of all kinds until he reached the latest portrait, and winced.

His own face looked back at him, mouth pulled into a stylishly brooding frown he'd never in a million years pull in real life. His lens-covered eyes gazed out blankly, dark brown shining black in the grayscale filter. Even in the picture devoid of colour his skin looked too dark.

"Well, looks like we're all done 'ere!" Shirley chirped, screwing the top back on the pot of mousse and putting her hands on his shoulders as he turned back to the mirror. He looked almost human. Almost.

"Yeah, thanks Shirley," he said. He tried to muster up some sincere gratitude but all that came out was a gloomy mumble.

She met his gaze sympathetically in the mirror. "For what it's worth," she said kindly, speaking in hushed tones for his ears only. "I think you look just as lovely without."

He nodded his thanks, grimacing as she gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze and turned to the door. He wasn't sure if he agreed with her one hundred percent, but he appreciated the sentiment.

With one last glance at his coated face, and one last steadying breath, he stood up and followed his waiting make-up artist.

Duty called.

* * *

He heaved his bag over his shoulder with a weary sigh. It wasn't that his job was particularly demanding- sure, it required a lot of standing around, but it wasn't like he could get achy legs or muscle strains anymore. But there was something emotionally taxing about being the only undead in a room full of living people telling you how to stand- frankly, it was too eerily close to his everyday reality for comfort.

With the overwhelming emotional exhaustion of the day, really the last thing he wanted on his way home from work was more drama.

The PDS protestors outside the studio begged to differ.

For a little while he actually succeeded in slipping past unnoticed- he found that so long as you kept your everyday clothes drab and your gait small and unassuming you could pretty much slip under anyone's radar. He almost got smacked on the head by banners a couple of times (a particularly large one reading "Cut The Cover-Up" nearly knocked his block off at one point), but he was actually making good progress through the crowd.

That was until he saw a familiar face in a dress as big as her bellowing voice.

"Amy?!"

She turned to his voice, and her eyes widened.

"Kieren Walker!" she exclaimed, bounding forward and wrapping him in a rib-crushing embrace. "Fancy seeing you here- come to join the good fight, 'ave yeh?"

"Uh," Kieren stammered, awkwardly returning the hug. "Actually, I guess, in a way I'm kind of the one you're fighting _against_…"

She pulled back slightly to look at his face, staring as if she'd only just noticed the cover-up and contacts. "Oh! Oh, right, you're…"

"Yeah…" he said, nodding sadly.

"Well," Amy said generously, smoothing out the lapels of his jacket. "With your handsome mug, s'pose I shouldn't be surprised!"

"Cheers, Amy," he laughed, wincing as another protestor brushed past him with a little more force than necessary.

"Still, shame about the…" she trailed off, gesturing to his moussed-up face. "Y'know. Reckon you'd be dead gorgeous without all that lot!"

"Yeah, well, don't get yer hopes up," he muttered, shifting his bag to a more comfortable position. "Never take it off these days."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Mousse goes with the job anyway, and it makes a lot of stuff easier. Less staring in the street. 'Sides, not like I'm much to look at underneath anyway!"

"Don't talk like that, Kieren Walker, yer gorgeous!" Amy said sternly, planting her hands on his shoulders. "More than gorgeous, yer… _moregeous!_ Any magazine'd be lucky to have yeh, mousse or no mousse!"

"Well, good luck finding anyone who photographs us _au natural _in this city!" Kieren laughed.

She smiled at him, and it was a strange smile he couldn't quite work out- there was something sly about it, like she was in on a big secret and was enjoying not telling him. Before he could question her she hastily moved the conversation along.

"Are you happy like this, Kieren?" she asked, sincerely concerned. "Is this what you want?"

He couldn't really come up with an answer. After a while he gave up and shrugged.

"Well, I can just feel the enthusiasm coming off yeh in waves," Amy said dryly, rolling her eyes.

"Look, what does it matter?" he said, exasperated. "It's a job and it means I have money coming in, most places wouldn't even hire me! Can't make a living doing volunteer work."

She reached out and took his hands. "It doesn't have to be like this, y'know."

"Yeah, well, it is, so best just get used to it," he said bitterly, looking down at their joined hands and biting his lip.

The smile was back. "No, Kieren Walker, I mean it _literally _doesn't 'ave to be like this," she lifted his hands to her chest, pressing them over her unbeating heart. "There's someone I think you should meet. Come with me?"

"What about yer protest?" he said, glancing up at the man in the skull hood standing at the head of the crowd, chanting slogans through a megaphone.

"Oh, I'm sure they can toddle on without me for a bit!" she laughed, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. "So? You'll come?"

He met her gaze, but he could tell she was not going to back down on this one. Besides, he w_as _kind of curious.

So, with a roll of his eyes and a defeated sigh, he answered with a disgruntled: _"Fine."_

"Yay!" she squeaked, clapping his hands together excitedly. "Brilliant! Seriously, you're not gonna regret this, partner!" she dropped his right hand but kept a hold of his left, dragging him along as she wormed and elbowed her way through the crowd. "You just stick with me, BDFF- and let me do the talking!"

* * *

Kieren's confusion only deepened the further they went. A tube ride and three blocks later they were standing outside a grimy newsagent's, and he was more bewildered than ever.

"If this is you trying to get me a job as a paper boy, I already did that for a bit in me teens," he said, eyeing the seemingly disused shop cynically. "Kind of been there, done that."

"No, Dumb-Dumb," she chortled, dragging him towards the scuffed door. "We're moving on up," she said, pointing up to the dusty windows of the upper levels.

The shop was deserted, the old man behind the counter barely glanced up from his newspaper as they swept past. Kieren didn't even have time to take in the rest of the dingy store before he was yanked through a door in the back, and up a narrow flight of creaky stairs.

Amy finally branched off from the main staircase after about two storeys, pulling him away from the splintered steps and into a narrow corridor. She released his hand and strode confidently to the door halfway down the hall, turning on her heel and rapping sharply with her knuckles. Kieren took a few hesitant steps closer, and he was close enough to hear the deep voice as it called through the faded wood.

"Come in."

Amy shoved the door open and strolled in happily, greeting her mysterious friend in a sing-song voice. "Afternoon, Mymon!"

Kieren slowly approached the open door, hearing a chuckle and a familiar _thud_ as Amy no doubt launched herself into his arms. "Hey there."

"Brought a friend to see yeh," she said, and Kieren could hear the smirk in her voice.

"That right?" he said, although he sounded like he was just humouring her. Kieren actually found himself feeling nervous.

"Trust me, Mr. Photographer- you're gonna _love _this one!" she said confidently, skipping back to the door and poking her head round, meeting Kieren's nervous gaze with a grin. "Well, come in then, Handsome! Don't be shy- he doesn't bite!"

"Not unless I'm asked," the voice called out, and Kieren thought if he had a blood flow he'd be blushing.

"Behave," Amy called back, giggling. When Kieren made no move she grabbed his hand and pulled him the last few steps to the doorway. As he staggered to a halt he looked up with an anxious 'hello' on his lips.

It dried up the second he saw him.

The man leaned against a counter, a smouldering cigarette hanging from his lips and his hands flicking through a sheaf of negatives. His long white sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, his black braces off his shoulders and hanging by his hips beneath the untucked shirt. He glanced up, pearl-white eyes surveying Kieren from beneath his meticulously gelled hair. With a smile in his direction he removed the cig from his mouth, smoke puffing from his lips as he stubbed out the remainder in a nearby ashtray.

"Simon," Amy said, tugging the dumbstruck Kieren into the room. "This is Kieren Walker- don't let the face paint fool yeh, he's moregeous!"

Simon looked him up and down, and Kieren felt pinned beneath the intensity of his gaze.

"Well, that's believable," Simon murmured, possibly thinking neither of them would hear as he turned to the counter and slid the negatives back into their folder. "You wear that stuff all the time, Kieren Walker?"

"Uh, yeah, pretty much," Kieren said, shifting his bag on his shoulder uncomfortably.

"Why?"

Christ, how many times was he going to be asked in one day? "Just makes a lot of things easier."

"Less drama," Simon said, but it didn't feel like a question.

"Yeah," Kieren agreed quietly.

Simon leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. His lips quirked up into a sly grin. "Well, where's the fun in that?"

"That's what I'm always telling him!" Amy laughed as Kieren gaped at them both. She cuddled his arm playfully, plonking her head on his shoulder. "So, what d'you think, Mymon? I think he might be just what yer looking for!"

"Can someone explain what's going on?" Kieren sighed exasperatedly, throwing his free hand up in frustration. He was getting pretty bloody sick of cryptic zombies.

"Simon works for _In The Flesh- _y'know, that PDS mag no one ever buys?"

Simon glowered at her. "Cheers, Ames."

"Anyway, I think a moregeous mascot such as yourself could be all it needs to turn around," Amy said brightly, ruffling Kieren's hair affectionately. "Anyone'd stop and look if that handsome mug of yours graced the front page!"

"God, Amy, will you just let it go?" Kieren groaned, extracting his arm from her grip. "I get it, you think I'm cute, and that's great- yer my best friend, of course yeh say that! But I'm not exactly front page material, here!"

"_Bazaar _would beg to differ," Simon interjected, pulling the battered issue out from beneath a pile of folders and holding it up, Kieren's face gazing out from the ash-flecked paper. "Thought I recognised yeh."

"That's different," Kieren muttered. "They do my cover-up, it's a whole big thing."

"And you don't think you'd pull it off without?" Simon asked, once again affixing his intense stare on Kieren's mousse-covered face.

Kieren met his gaze and felt like shrinking under the scrutiny. He shook his head. "No. I'm nothing special."

Heavy silence fell on the room, and Kieren shifted restlessly under their combined gaze.

"Well," Simon finally broke the silence, straightening up and picking up a cloth from the table. "If that's how yeh feel," he murmured, moving to stand in front of Kieren. "Perhaps you ought to give us a chance to formulate an opinion?" he held up the cloth, raising his eyebrow challengingly.

Kieren stared at him, and thought about just walking off. He could just go home, go to his job tomorrow and return to his normal life, no weird undead drama. He didn't need to prove anything to this random guy he'd just met.

But he still wanted to.

"Fine," Kieren said, snatching the cloth from his hand and raising it to his face. With long, forceful stokes he removed the carefully applied layers of mousse, the cloth turning creamy orange with every swipe. He didn't have a mirror to hand, but he felt the freedom as the weight lifted piece by piece. He definitely did the best he could, given the circumstances. When he thought he was done he dropped the stained cloth onto a nearby table, and reached up to carefully pick the contact lenses out of his eyes. He blinked as they slid out, his dry eyes prickling in the sudden exposure to the dusty air. Hardly surprising- even at night he liked to keep them in.

When the worst of the prickling had subsided he looked back up, and immediately found himself under Simon's scrutiny. He had his head cocked slightly to the side, his lips turned up into the slightest smile as his captivated gaze swept the length of Kieren's uncovered face, lingering on every detail. Truth be told it was slightly unnerving, but that didn't stop his stomach fluttering in a not-entirely-unpleasant fashion.

Finally Simon broke the stare with a grin as he turned his back, wondering over to the counter and leaning against it as he picked up the pack of cigarettes.

"So," he said, popping one in his mouth and offering one to Kieren with a smile. "When can yeh start?"

* * *

That night, Kieren lay face-up on his bed, staring at the ceiling vacantly. His mind was elsewhere.

He'd left Simon's studio without giving an answer- he hadn't had one to give. Instead he'd left with Amy whining in his ear and Simon's number scrawled in black pen on his arm. He absently reached over to trace his finger over the stark lines in their looping script- he wondered what Simon's handwriting must look like written on paper without the rush. He could picture him savouring every letter.

A part of him realised how stupid it was to even consider the offer- he'd struck lucky getting such a well-paid, high profile job so early on. He'd gone years thinking no one would ever hire him for anything, given his condition. He'd never considered himself model material, but he wasn't going to turn down a job when he had no idea when the next one would come along. Sure, his parents were happy to have him round for now but he'd have to move on sometime, and he couldn't exactly do that with not a penny to his name. Whatever Simon's magazine could pay him, it was safe to say it would be a fraction of what he was already making- they could barely afford to keep their own company running, going by the state of Simon's studio. And that situation wasn't going to improve unless they had a truly phenomenal spike in sales.

That was a whole other problem. He turned his head to the side, and met his own gaze in the mirror where he applied his cover-up day after day. He blinked slowly at his pale reflection, wrinkling his nose at his mottled skin and pearlescent eyes. Who wanted to see _that _on the front page?

Well, maybe one person.

He was glad his heart didn't beat anymore- otherwise it would probably thump right out of his chest every time he thought of that look Simon had given him. Staring at his exposed face like it was some kind of rare commodity, like he'd just unearthed unforetold treasures.

Kieren turned his head to the other side and saw the newspaper, lying crumpled on the bed beside him where he'd dropped it upon entering. Rolling onto his side, he smoothed it out and flipped it open, carefully scanning every page.

He counted nine PDS sufferers. Four in adverts, their faces covered but their undead state still painfully obvious to his experienced eye, mostly advertising make-up (and in one case funeral services- frankly, he thought that was in pretty bad taste). The other five were mentioned in snippets of news, mostly articles about ULA attacks, and a couple of features about the struggling economy. In every column someone managed to blame something on people with PDS, and in every article the picture used was of an uncovered face, usually taken in a moment of anger to make the 'attacker' seem more threatening. He saw a picture of a pale man in a rabid state and realised with a jolt that it was a stock photo- he'd seen it a few months ago, decorating a warning sign for rabidication. Whoever the unnamed PDS sufferer was, they hadn't even seen fit to use his real face.

He thought about the world and the media, the unforgiving attitudes towards people like himself who were only trying to fit in. He thought about Amy, her boundless enthusiasm and her unwavering confidence in him. He thought about Simon, wearing his natural face like a badge of honour.

His hands found the phone on his bedside table, his fingers keyed in the numbers he'd somehow unconsciously memorised. He held the receiver to his ear, and waited patiently for three and a half rings until he heard a click and familiar lilted voice greeting him.

"Hi- it's me," he said, turning once again to look in the mirror, mouth set in a determined line. "I can start tomorrow."

* * *

**Well, there ya go! **

**New update for It's Only Life will be up this week, but I'm probably not going to post anything else 'til next week at the earliest- hopefully Broken Masks will be among them! **

**(And yes I did name the magazine In The Flesh- what you gonna do about it? No regrets.)**

**Until next time! **


	2. Chapter 2

**More model madness, for ya!**

**Well, this chapters slightly bitty with a big argument (sorry about that- I'll try to make it right by the end of the fic!), but hopefully much cute as well! **

**I should just mention right now that I know nothing about the process of producing/editing/printing magazines, so I'm kind of making it up as I go along. If it's blantantly wrong I apologise- I wasn't very careful xD**

**Well, enjoy!**

* * *

Leaving his current job didn't prove to be much of a problem- they never provided him with a contract in the first place after all (they hadn't seen the need to, given that he was technically no longer a citizen. Plus the lack of an iron-bound contract made it easier to fire PDS models if they didn't play by the rules). All it had taken was a quick phone call and a brisk exchange with the manager and suddenly he was a free man (or zombie, whatever). He felt a little guilty about ditching Shirley, but she'd have plenty more models coming in to fill his shoes.

He hadn't seen the need to alert his parents to his sudden change in employment just yet. He was still putting on his cover-up and leaving the house every day, and technically he _was _still going to the studio- just a slightly different one. He'd tell them when he worked out what to say, but for now they really didn't need to know.

Whatever money he was losing out on from quitting his other job, he was slowly making up by putting in extra hours with _In The Flesh_'s graphics department- Simon had wasted no time in hiring him for extra help having found out about his artistic talents from Amy. The department, comprised of the 'beautiful genius' herself (when she had time off from singlehandedly running the wardrobe department) along with her friend Philip, housed a cosy but professional atmosphere, and Kieren found himself settling in right away. He didn't imagine that Philip, warm-blooded human that he was, gained much from working for an independent PDS magazine. But the way he glanced at Amy from across the table made it obvious he wasn't doing it for the social standing.

As for the modelling work… well, it was quite a departure from his last job, to say the least. For a start there were obvious budgetary differences in cameras, lighting, and so on- with the quality of lighting in that studio he was amazed that any of the photos even came out. There was the unusual hours, the eclectic outfits, the minimalist sets (made minimalist by budget rather than stylistic choice).

And then, of course, there was Simon.

* * *

June 21st

"Up a bit," he called softly, and Kieren obligingly raised his chin. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on a crack high up on the wall, but in all honesty it was a difficult feat to keep himself focused when he could feel Simon's eyes on him, long looks that sizzled on his skin. Were photographers even _allowed _to be this distracting? How did he get anything done?

"Perfect, thanks," he said, smirking from behind his camera as the flash went off. "You're a natural."

Kieren rolled his eyes. Two days into the job and the ridiculous man had not stopped flirting once. Another flash went off, followed by a low chuckle. Kieren looked at him questioningly, and got a mischievous grin in return.

"You're cute when you're frustrated," Simon explained with a shrug, snapping another picture of Kieren's quizzical expression.

Kieren raised his eyebrow. "Not all that professional, are yeh?"

Simon frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"Well, for starter's you haven't so much as touched that tripod in two days," Kieren said, gesturing to the disused stand beside the photographer. "Is that just there fer decoration?"

"As you may have already guessed," Simon said, stepping forward to adjust Kieren's hair- the younger man would have damn near blushed if he'd had any blood to do so. It must have been evident on his face heartbeat or no heartbeat, because Simon gave him a devilish grin as he once again raised the camera to his face. "I like the natural look…"

* * *

June 24th

"Give it a rest!" Kieren laughed, swatting Amy's hand away as it fussed with his hair.

"Come on, Kier," she chided, giggling at his attempt to brush her off. "Gotta have you looking fab for yer boyfriend!"

"He's not my boyfriend!" Kieren whined, looking to Philip for help but seeing only an amused smile as the timid man watched Amy's laughing face with rapt awe.

"Steamy workplace romance- never knew you were the type!" she teased, fiddling with the strands of his hair, attempting to use the remains of his hair gel from the morning's photo shoot to style it.

"Excuse me," he said indignantly, slapping her hand away and meeting her gaze steadfastly. "I'll have you know that there is nothing going on between me and Simon. I am a model, he is a photographer, and that is _it._ I am a _professional._"

With a snooty _harrumph _he turned back to the chopped up headlines in his hands, staring down at the letters he'd been set the job of arranging on the front cover. His brow furrowed.

"Problem, Mr. Professional?" Amy enquired, peeking over his shoulder with a smirk.

He glared at her darkly, sweeping the sub-header into the bin.

"…Spelled my name wrong."

* * *

June 26th

"What's that?" Kieren asked from his perch on the counter, his legs swinging aimlessly beneath him.

Simon froze, and Kieren swore he could see his grip tightening on the envelope in his hand for a second. "What's what?" he said vaguely, tearing open the envelope and spilling the new negatives into his hand.

Kieren had his eyes riveted on his back. Simon had removed his over shirt about half an hour ago- he often did that when he got into his work. But the neck of his white vest top had dipped slightly at the back, and below the dark hole used for Neurotriptyline administration Kieren thought he saw something else…

"On yer back," Kieren clarified.

Simon glanced sideways at him, and Kieren could've sworn he saw fear in his eyes.

"S'nothin'," Simon muttered, tugging self-consciously at the vest until it slid back into position over the mark. Everything about his tone and actions said 'end of conversation'.

* * *

June 29th

It was the busiest week of the month for the graphics/editing crew- only made more stressful by the fact that they were still waiting on the last contributions from everywhere else. Kieren himself had one more session with the enigmatic head of photography to cross off the schedule.

For now though, his job consisted of racing around the creaky old building, chasing up deadlines with the ragtag crew of writers, artists and researchers. It was a stressful time for everyone, without a doubt.

But despite the rush, he couldn't help but smile and move along without complaint every time he saw Amy and Philip loitering in hallways, all nervous conversation and lingering looks. He wasn't the type to stand in the way of progress.

* * *

July 2nd

"You don't have to do that every day, y'know," Simon mumbled, not looking up as he gently polished the camera lens.

"Yeah, trust me, I do," Kieren muttered, smearing away the thick layer of mousse on his face in preparation for their last shooting session for some time to come. He knew he didn't need it for the photography sessions, but as far as his parents knew he was still shooting for _Bazaar. _So far he hadn't found a way to break the news that he had become a part of some kind of undead equal rights movement. He needed to work out a way to say it that wouldn't sound like 'I've joined a terrorist organisation' to his paranoid parents (who hadn't even made it so far as accepting that he couldn't _eat _yet)… So far he was drawing a blank.

He could feel Simon's eyes on his back, but didn't give it much thought until he heard his footsteps. The Irish man crept up quietly behind him, tapping his shoulder politely. As Kieren turned around he met his gaze, and a small, understanding smile crossed his face.

"May I?" He said, gesturing to the cloth in Kieren's hand.

Kieren nodded mutely, feeling Simon's fingers brush against his own as he took the cloth from his unresisting hand. He felt Simon's fingers beneath his jaw, gently lifting his face as he dabbed away the thick mask, taking more care and time than Kieren had ever done. His eyes didn't leave his face once.

Kieren reached up, lifting away the contacts and blinking at the raw, exposed sensation it left in his dry eyes. When they fully opened and his vision focused he was once again greeted by the sight of Simon, their eyes meeting across the short distance. Simon's hand hovered by his face, the orange-stained cloth dangling from his fingers.

He grinned, wiping away the last speck of mousse and handing the cloth back, his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary near his. The hand on his jaw moved down to his shoulder, gripping gently at the base of his neck.

"S'like watching you come alive," he murmured.

With a parting smile and a pat on the shoulder, he turned his back and returned his attention to the beaten-up camera.

Kieren lifted his fingers to his face, the tips brushing against exposed skin, and smiled.

* * *

July 7th

"Come on, come on!" Amy squeaked, tugging Kieren's hand forcefully.

"Where are we going?" Kieren complained, wincing as she elbowed her way through the busy morning crowds and sent several bags and arms slapping into his face.

"You'll see!" She giggled.

Kieren rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be towed along. He'd learned long ago that there was really no point in fighting Amy on stuff like this- if there was something she wanted him to see, he'd see it.

Suddenly, she turned round and stomped behind him, raising her hands to cover his eyes. "No peeking!"

"Don't even know what I'm peeking at…" he grumbled, allowing her to steer him forwards a little, turning him with a nudge to his shoulder. When she brought them to a standstill he waited patiently for her to remove her hands.

Nearly thirty seconds later, and he thought it was time to speak up.

"Uh, Amy?" he asked, nudging her hand. "Can I look yet?"

"Oh, sorry!" she laughed, dropping her hands. "Too excited, forgot! Ta-dah!"

It took him a moment to realise what he was looking at. Then it hit him like a freight train.

He stared into the window of the small newsagent's she'd pushed him up to, blinking at the sight of his uncovered face gazing back at him from one of the magazines in the storefront display. Obviously he'd seen his face printed places before, but this was something else entirely.

"Oh," he said, still wrapping his head around it. "Wow. Y'know, I think a part of me thought it'd never get published."

Amy hummed, looping her arm through his and leaning against his shoulder. "Well, better believe it, Buster! Si was up all night picking the right one- determined to get it just right, 'e was!" she waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Poor boy's smitten!"

"He's not smitten," Kieren droned, defaulting to defensiveness. His eyes remained on the block of small print at the base of the cover. Production credits. His name was there, along with Philip's and Amy's. The name of their publisher, their editor. Their photographer.

"Huh," he murmured thoughtfully. "So his last name's Monroe…"

* * *

July 10th

With the latest issue done and the next still too early in the production to require models or editors, Kieren found himself with the week off. A week he had absolutely no idea what to do with.

Well, at least that's how it was until his phone beeped.

He looked up from the charcoal drawing beneath his fingers (surprise, surprise, it had turned into Simon) with a frown, reaching over with blackened fingers to pick up the phone. One new text.

**Bored?**

Amy. He laughed, firing off a reply.

**How did you guess?**

The response came within seconds. Somehow that girl could type at the speed of sound.

**I'm psychic. Picnic in the park? X**

He glanced out the window. Rain was pouring- he'd be drenched in seconds.

**You sure about that? **

Unfortunately, she knew how to convince him.

**Simon's coming. X**

He glared at the screen. She had his attention, and she knew it. Muttering under his breath, he sent one last reply as he pulled on his coat.

**You're evil. Fine. There in 10.**

* * *

July 15th

'Day trips' with Amy became more and more frequent. The four of them- Philip and Simon included- seemed to meet up nearly every day they weren't working. Often there was no real plan or schedule to stick to, more often than not Amy would just pick a location or an activity and then they'd see where the day went from there.

On that first day where the tradition had started, a picnic in the rain had quickly turned to four grown adults jumping in puddles, kicking water at each other and giggling like six year-olds. Even Simon had got involved, now _that _had been surprising. He supposed Amy just had a way of bringing people's fun sides out.

Now it was half past eleven in the morning, and Kieren woke blearily to the sun streaming through his window. He frowned. There was something he was supposed to remember…

He sat up, his head pounding. He wasn't hung-over, or at least not in the traditional sense (they couldn't even drink, after all), but he'd managed it somehow. He remembered sheep's brains being involved. And loud music.

A concert, that was it. They went to see… ugh, he doesn't even know, some boisterous indie band he'd never heard of and probably never would again. It had been Amy's idea.

Something else he needed to remember. Actually, two more things.

The first he found when he leaned over and saw a sleeping Simon sprawled out across the floor, inky hair in disarray and snoring gently. Yes, he'd slept over, that was right- because his apartment was nearly two hours away and they both had to be awake for…

His eyes widened, and he snapped his gaze to the clock. Eleven thirty-six. _Shit. _That was the second thing.

"Simon, wake up!" He said, voice croaky from lack of use. When Simon didn't budge he reached behind his back and grabbed his pillow, chucking it at the sleeping man's head.

Simon woke with a start, propping himself on his elbows and blinking at his unfamiliar surroundings. "Kieren?" he rasped, shaking his head against the pounding sheep brain hangover.

"Si, we have to get up," Kieren urged, prodding the Irish man with his foot as he passed on his way to the wardrobe. "It's half eleven!"

"So?" he grumbled, throwing an arm over his face to block out the sunlight.

"_So, _it's the fifteenth!" Kieren snapped exasperatedly, grabbing the nearest shirt he could find and yanking it on.

Simon stared at him blankly for a moment before realisation dawned.

"Oh, _shit!_" he exclaimed, leaping from the floor and teetering slightly on unsteady feet as he snapped his braces on over his shoulders and struggled into his coat. "Planning meeting, fuck it!"

Despite the panic, Kieren couldn't help but laugh as the photographer nearly toppled over in his attempts to pull on his shoes. "Come on, we're gonna be late!" he said, picking up his neurotriptyline from the bedside table and gesturing impatiently. Simon knelt behind him on the bed, hastily injecting his dose before turning round and allowing him to do the same. When they were both topped up Kieren grabbed Simon's arm and dragged him towards the door, propelling him out into the hallway before he even had a chance to button his shirt. The dark-haired man took off at a sprint without so much as tying his shoes- well, he might break his neck but at least he couldn't die again.

"Kieren?" his mother exclaimed as he barrelled past, sparing a wide-eyed glance for the pale-faced Irish man before he launched himself through the front door.

"Sorry, Mum, can't talk now," Kieren said, ducking down to give her a hasty peck on the cheek as he grabbed his jacket from the hook. "I'm off- see you later!"

He was out the door before she could protest.

It wasn't until he dived into Simon's car and glanced in the wing mirror that he realised that he hadn't covered his face.

* * *

Kieren waved until he saw Simon's car disappear round the corner, the smell of cigarette smoke lingering in his nostrils. At least they were both immune to lung cancer now.

When the hum of the engine finally faded into silence, he turned to the house with a sigh. Time to face the music. His hand wondered to his face, still bare as the day he rose. Simon had been staring at it all day. Ridiculous man- how was he supposed to concentrate in the planning meeting with that bloody stare giving him butterflies in his stomach?

Not that he was particularly necessary to the meetings- in the end Amy was in charge of the graphics department and Simon was head of photography, really there was no call for an art assistant/model to be present. But Simon had insisted, and it wasn't until the papers had been spread across the table that he knew why.

"Told'ja you were a natural," he'd whispered, pushing the sales graph across the table towards him with a smirk. The enormous spike in sales figures was hard to argue against.

His feet dragged as he approached the door, his hand hovering over the knob. He couldn't put it off forever. Today was the day.

With a deep breath to bolster his resolve, he turned the handle and entered the house.

The only sound in the building came from the dining room, his family sat around the table in hushed conversation (which fell silent as soon as the front door slammed, so it was pretty obvious what they were talking about). He stepped into the light, and three pairs of eyes immediately fixed on him.

Jem took one look at his bare face and stood up, chair scraping back as she stomped upstairs. Sue looked after her sadly, but made no attempt to call her back. There wouldn't be any point.

"Something you want to tell us, Son?" Steve asked, eyes on his mottled skin.

Kieren nodded, gulping against the anxiety clawing its way up his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, and I should have told you ages ago I just…"

"You just what?" Steve prodded, shaking his head as he stared at Kieren's milky eyes. "What is it yer doing, Kier? Not got yerself roped in with those extremists and whatnot, have yer? Is it that girl- Amy something?"

"What? No, Dad, it's nothing like-!"

"We're just worried about yer, Son," he said, glancing at Sue for confirmation and receiving a small nod in return. "You've been off out more, we don't even know where yer going half the time- you even still going to that job of yers?"

Kieren winced. "Well, yeah, in a way…"

"Well, what's that s'posed to mean?"

Kieren sighed, running a hand through his hair. "All right, look- I quit that job, okay?"

"Why?" Sue asked, eyes wide. "Where've you even been going, then?"

"I got a new one!" Kieren explained hurriedly. "With Simon- that bloke who was 'ere this morning? He's a photographer!"

"Why was 'e here?" Steve demanded, eyes narrowing. "You always invite the boss out for sleepovers, do yer?"

"No, it's not like that…" Kieren sighed, not knowing how to explain- especially considering how fast his relationship with Simon was coming to be 'like that'. It may be the truth now but he had no idea how long for. "Look, we both had a meeting early this morning, we were out late, his place is a fair bit further away so I said he could sleep on me floor, that's all."

"Why were yer out late?" Sue asked.

"Amy dragged us to this concert out by-"

"Thought yeh said Amy weren't involved?" Steve interrupted. "Yer said it were nothing to do with 'er a minute ago."

"No, she works with me, but it's nothing cult related or whatever it is yer thinking," Kieren clarified. "S'nothing like that, it's just a magazine- same job I had before, different company."

"And different rules, by the looks of it," Steve said, gesturing vaguely to his face. "Where's yer…?"

Ah. _Now _he was getting to the point. Kieren couldn't help glaring a little. "Don't need it. It's a PDS magazine, they don't care what my face looks like."

"You've been wearing it whenever we see yeh," Sue said quietly.

"Didn't wanna worry yer," Kieren mumbled, leaning against the doorway and picking at a splinter. "'Sides, I knew you'd do something like…"

"Something like what?" Steve asked, face hard.

"Something like _this!_" Kieren snapped, gesturing at them both in their positions at the table. "Christ, I go _one day _without cover-up and suddenly it's the Spanish Inquisition!"

"Oi, language!" Steve said, just a loudly. "Calm down, Son, we're just worried about yer- we don't know anything about these folks you work with, what kind of ideas they could be puttin' in yer head-!"

"I can _think _for _myself, _Dad!" Kieren shouted, stepping forward and slamming his palm against the table, causing his parents to flinch back. "You always treat me like I'm still some naïve kid who has to 'ave someone to follow- I'm _twenty-three, _fer Christ sake! I know I don't look it, I know I'm gonna just look the same for ever and ever, and I'm s_orry _it's come down to that, but I can take control of my own life!"

The sound of heavy bass filtered down through the ceiling as Jem turned her music up- no doubt trying to drown out the din.

Kieren took a deep breath, dragging his voice down to a lower decibel level. "It's my life," Kieren said, meeting his father's gaze across the table. "And I'm not gonna waste it a second time."

Steve looked down at his son's hand, clenched in a fist on the table, and gulped. "I'm just concerned for this family's safety."

Kieren felt like the ground had fallen away beneath his feet. He stared disbelievingly at his father, searching his eyes for a hint of a lie and finding none.

"…Yer scared of me?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"I am," Steve said without hesitation. "I'll admit it, when yer acting like this."

"Acting like _what?_"

"I don't even recognise yeh anymore," Steve said.

"_This _is who I am!" Kieren exclaimed, gesturing angrily to his pale face with a scowl. "All I've ever done is _pretend _for you, I tried to fit in with you when yer brought me back but I just can't live like this anymore- it was fine when I thought this was all there was, but…" he shook his head, thinking of Simon and the way he savoured every glance of his natural skin, and Amy's unwavering support. How could he possibly go back to the way it was before?

"I can't. I'm sorry, I just…" he couldn't even complete the thought before he was out of the room and up the stairs, leaving his stunned parents in his wake.

He didn't need much, he thought as he grabbed the empty suitcase from under his bed and slammed it down on the mattress. Some clothes, his sketchbook, his medication, a few keepsakes from the shoebox full of memories under his bed. It took him less than five minutes to pack. He thought about knocking on Jem's door to say his goodbyes, but he knew she wouldn't want to see him right now. He would call her later- he swore it to himself. He wouldn't leave her without a word again.

A few minutes and a few shouted words with his parents later, and he was walking away into the glow of the late afternoon sun- stiff limbs trudging and splashing through puddles, his life in a bag at his side and his eyes fixed on the dark mass of the distant city.

* * *

Simon hadn't bothered going home after he'd dropped Kieren off at his house. There was still plenty of work to be done, after all- he'd had his orders for the month, time to get cracking.

He flicked through the photos and negatives, the same red-haired, doe-eyed face peering out from every shot (he had no idea how the boy managed to be doe-eyed even with nothing but pinprick pupils, but somehow he pulled it off). He knew the kind of stories he was shooting for now, the themes and articles he needed to supply for, and he already knew exactly which model he was using for as many as management would allow.

He was hovering in a trance state somewhere between formulating shots and fawning over the familiar face when he heard a timid knock on the studio door. He frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall- nearly seven thirty. Not many people called on him this late in the day.

He stood up and walked towards the door, sliding the bolt across and pulling it open with a creak.

"Kieren?" he said quietly, eyes widening as he saw the suitcase in his hand and the haunted look in his eyes. "Kier, what's wrong?"

The boy didn't answer. Instead he dropped his bag, stepping forward to press his head against Simon's shoulder and wrap his arms around his waist. He leaned heavily against him, breathing deeply against his collar and bunching his fingers in his shirt.

For a few long seconds, Simon forgot how to breathe. At least he didn't need the oxygen.

But when Kieren showed no signs of backing away, he slowly lifted his own arms to drape around his shoulders, one hand sliding up to weave through his hair. He let his eyes flutter closed, taking a deep breath and feeling the subtle aroma of shampoo and oil paint wash over him.

"Sorry," Kieren whispered, loosening his grip on the Irish man's waist.

"S'all right," Simon chuckled, taking one last deep breath before Kieren pulled away. "No complaints this end."

Kieren smiled at him, his hands reaching up to straighten his shirt where his face and rumpled the fabric.

Simon watched him carefully, cocking his head to the side. "What happened?"

"Oh, y'know," Kieren said, shrugging. "Parents."

Simon nodded, brushing the hair out of Kieren's eyes. "Anything I can do?"

Kieren smiled weakly. "Can I sleep on yer floor for a few days?"

"Don't be thick- no model o' mine's sleeping on the floor," Simon said with a grin, ruffling the coppery mop. "Couch is all yours. As long as you need it."

"Thanks, Simon," Kieren murmured, looking down at his hands as his fingers twined uneasily.

With a quiet laugh, Simon picked up his bag and took it over to the counter, placing gently besides the sheaf of negatives. He picked up his camera from the desk and looked at Kieren with a smile.

"Come on," he said, walking back over and holding out his hand to the confused man. "Let's go somewhere."

Kieren raised his eyebrow, but took his hand anyway. "Where?"

Simon shrugged, pulling the door shut behind them. "Wherever the evening takes us."

* * *

"Put that thing away!" Kieren laughed as another loud click sounded.

"Never!" Simon grinned, once again raising the camera to his face. "Don't wanna miss a second."

"I'm not even _dressed _fer it, Si!" Kieren pointed out, gesturing to his tattered jumper and baggy jeans. Another click.

"Doesn't matter," Simon said with a wink. "Nice clothes, bad clothes, no clothes- anything looks good on yeh, gorgeous!"

Kieren raised his eyebrow. "Oh yeah- and how would you know?"

Simon shrugged. "I can dream."

Kieren laughed, leaning against the railing as he heard another snap of the shutter. Somehow they'd ended up on a pier by the Thames, looking out across the murky water as the setting sun cast its orange light. Simon had been snapping pictures for the last half an hour as they walked, waxing lyrical about the way the light shone on his hair and glowed in his eyes. Sometimes he wondered if the dark-haired man had been a poet in his past life.

He leaned against a lamppost, grinning as he heard more tell-tale clicks. "Pack it in!" he laughed, attempting to give Simon an exasperated look, but he was too amused to put much venom into it.

Simon just beamed, clicking again. "Come on, you love it! Turn to face us, will yeh?"

Kieren rolled his eyes, but he couldn't resist that little smile. He turned round to face the grinning Irish man, smiling into the camera as more clicks and whirs rang out from the clunky device.

"Yeah, that's it," Simon encouraged, laughing as Kieren pulled more ridiculous faces at the camera. The funny faces lasted until the boy was laughing too hard to continue, and even then the pictures kept coming. Simon couldn't help it- every look on the fair-haired man's face shone brighter than the burning sun.

"Beautiful," he murmured, grinning as Kieren approached with a soft smile on his lips and the deep orange light shining on his wide eyes and long lashes. He knew the picture he took to capture the moment would forever be one of his favourites.

"Hey, Simon," Kieren said quietly, dragging the Irish man's attention away from the camera screen.

"Yeah?"

Kieren stood in front of him, his hands gliding up to rest lightly on Simon's chest. "Thank you."

Simon smiled, lowering the camera in one hand and covering Kieren's with the other. "What for?"

Kieren couldn't stop the grin that broke across his face.

_For being here. For being my friend. For making me smile- making me _laugh, _no less. For always seeing the best in me when I can't see it myself. For making me feel comfortable in my own skin for the first time in both my lives._

He leaned in, fingers curling around Simon's lapels.

"Everything."

He closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together and feeling Simon freeze in a moment of surprised hesitation before eagerly returning the kiss. He felt hands cup his face, stroke his cheeks, wind through his hair with movements so gentle he thought for sure his deadened nerve endings should have just ignored them completely. But there they were, clear as day, and the care with which the confident man handled him made his dead heart want to burst from his chest.

They melted together in the lazy heat of the setting summer sun, cold fingers twining idly with fire simmering beneath the surface. As he wrapped his free arm around Simon's neck and felt the man sigh against his lips, a fresh wave of sensation washed over him.

This is what it was to be alive.

* * *

**No one can spell Kieren's name. Not even Kieren.**

**Now, I know I said this was going to be three chapters long but it might go up to five depending on how the next chapter goes- thinking about it, there's probably more I want to write. But I'm not promising anything until the next chapter's out!**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed- prior warning, the next chapter's going to contain a bit of angst born from serious prejudice against PDS sufferers. It's quite an important aspect, and while I like the idea of a lovely big heap of fluff for a fic I thought it was too important to ignore.**

**Until next time! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow, two story updates in one day- busy, busy, busy!**

**Thing is I'm away for a few days from the day after tomorrow so there probably won't be anymore updates to my various fics 'til next week at the earliest. So, to tide you over, here's some model fluff! (and some angst, not gonna lie, I said this would be a consequence of extending this fic and I meant it.)**

**Enjoy, my dears!**

* * *

The couch Kieren was promised remained largely unslept on- as they discovered within minutes of entering the house, there was plenty room on the bed for them both.

The days passed by in a strange haze of work and pleasure. Photo sessions, lingering touches between shots, smiles in the hallway as they both went to work in the respective departments, crazy days with Amy and Philip and lazy evenings in front of the TV, barely looking at the screen for fear of taking their eyes off each other.

And the _kissing. _Dear God, the kissing. Kieren had had a few experiences in his first life- all those furtive encounters with Rick in the cave, that one time with Georgia Cheshire in year nine at the Halloween party- but they had in no way prepared him for this. He hadn't even known this many types of kissing _existed. _Long and slow and languorous, fast-paced and breathless, against walls, collapsed on the floor, open-mouthed, gentle pecks, sweet lingering touches to start the day with a smile. If he'd have known this was what he had in store he probably would have responded to Simon's flirtations _much _sooner.

It wasn't all perfect. He still felt more than a little guilty for ditching his family- particularly Jem. He'd called her shortly after leaving, but he got the feeling she hadn't really wanted to speak to him. She'd need a bit more time to get used to it. But as if he could sense his sadness, any time a rush of guilt overwhelmed him he'd feel Simon at his back, kissing behind his ear and murmuring sweet nothings against his skin. And blimey, did the rich voice and richer accent awaken stirring feelings in the pit of his stomach he thought he'd never feel again.

Aside from some lingering guilty feelings, Kieren really felt like he had landed on his feet this time. He found it hard to visualise ways in which it could be better.

That was until an excited text from Amy sent to both of their phones told them to turn on the news.

Hitting the power button on the set, Simon flopped onto the sofa beside Kieren, arm draping automatically around his shoulders. Kieren snuggled into his side, head against his shoulder as the crackly old set booted up and a heavily made-up news anchor fizzed into view.

"-due to the unprecedented popularity of the heretofore unknown magazine, several companies have been making drastic changes in their approach to showcasing PDS models."

Simon and Kieren glanced at each other with wide eyes and open mouths as an image of their latest magazine cover appeared in the corner on the screen, Kieren's bare face smiling back through the murky black and white filter.

"…several businesses the country over have fallen in line with a new marketing trend of using a_u natural _PDS sufferers in their advertising campaigns- Maxine Martin, MP for the pro-living party Victus, has stated her disdain for the current state of affairs, lending voice to the concerns of many citizens."

Simon switched the set off before the stern-looking woman in the clip could utter a word.

"Well," he said, slipping a cigarette from his pocket and digging for his lighter, grinning giddily at the shell-shocked Kieren as he lit it. "Looks like we've hit the big-time, kid."

* * *

Their sudden ascension into popularity was something no one at _In The Flesh _could have predicted. Writers, editors and graphic designers returned to work with renewed vigour, all the while debating possible reasons why their no-mousse policy had finally sparked interest in the general public. Well, most of them debated- for Simon the reason was clear as day, standing before him with his arms outstretched as Amy made final alterations to his tailored waistcoat.

Kieren noticed his staring. "What?"

Simon shook his head slightly, unable to do anything but grin. He didn't need to say a thing- the beautiful boy would just read the playful amazement in his eyes and know what he was thinking.

Sure enough, Kieren didn't utter another word- just raised his eyebrow and smirked knowingly.

Amy glanced between them, biting back a snigger. Christ, they were obvious.

* * *

Months passed- new issues came and went, sales figures continued to climb. And as the sales increased, so did the budget.

Before too long they were able to move to bigger premises- their new studio still wasn't as big or as well-supplied as the one Kieren used to frequent, but he didn't point that out to Simon. The dark-haired man was too busy fawning over the new lighting equipment to notice, anyway.

"No more murky shots for us," he grinned, playing around with the intensity of the backlight. "Just as well," he said, bumping Kieren's cheek lightly with his knuckles. "'Bout time we had a studio to do that gorgeous face justice…"

Kieren laughed as Simon pressed kisses to his neck. He must have used that line at least ten times in the last two days, and Kieren knew perfectly well he would only stop using it when it stopped having the desired effect- and _that _wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Of course, with added space came increased need for assistants.

"_Mum!_" Philip whined, swatting the woman's hand away irritably as it fiddled with his hair. "_Please, _not in front of Amy?"

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport, Handsome!" Amy chortled as the other woman continued faffing with his crooked tie.

"Shirley?!"

Shirley Wilson turned to the new voice with a grin. "Afternoon, stranger!"

"What're you doing 'ere?" he laughed as she enfolded him in a hug.

"Well, as of this morning I work 'ere!" she beamed, gesturing at Philip. "Had a spot of bother with the managers at the old job- well, you'll know all about that, won't yeh?" she said meaningfully, gesturing subtly to his bare face. "So, Philip mentioned a job helping dear Amy out with wardrobe, so here I am!"

The following weeks saw a surge in new faces- PDS and living alike, all supporters of the cause. Kieren found himself being photographed in a dizzying array of outfits and backdrops as the creative team grew and thrived, several of which he'd helped to paint himself.

For a while, it felt like things could only get better.

* * *

His first cold, harsh burst of reality hit one day as he was walking back to Simon's apartment, happily humming to himself as the bag of newly purchased art supplies swung from his hand. With all that seemed to be going uncharacteristically _right_ for him, he was feeling the urge to paint again.

Unfortunately, as was prone to happen these days, someone recognised him. But they didn't give him a smile or a nervous wave or even just stare the way many had been known to do.

Instead, the heavy-set man walked right up to him, his jaw clenched and eyes aflame.

"Fuckin' rotter," he sneered.

Kieren could do nothing but freeze in shock as the man lunged forward and spat in his face.

The rest of the walk home passed in a cold fog of horror and humiliation. He hadn't been able to respond. No witty comeback or threatening comment, not even a snarky suggestion that the man come up with some more original insults. In the heat of the moment all his fight had abandoned him, and it was all he could do to just keep walking as the man shouted more abuse at his retreating back, feeling his dry eyes prick with tears he could no longer produce.

He practically sprinted the last thirty feet of corridor to their apartment. Barging through the door and slamming it behind his back as he leaned against the solid wood, he slid down with the weight of dry sobs until he sat with his back pressed to the door and his legs sprawled across the carpet. He didn't know why it had affected him so much- he'd received plenty of abuse even before he'd acquired his cushy new job, he was no stranger to ugly words.

But a part of his mind couldn't stop thinking of how much worse it could have been. What if the man hadn't been alone? What if he hadn't been satisfied with just humiliating him in the street? What if he'd followed him home? A sea of 'what if's, and not one of them good.

He didn't know how long he was sat on the floor whimpering before Simon was in front of him- but knowing the man, probably less than ten seconds. He felt hands on the side of his face as Simon dropped to his knees in front of him, smoothing back his hair and whispering what were probably soothing phrases but Kieren couldn't even concentrate on the words. But Simon didn't push- he just remained on the floor, pulling Kieren forward to rest his head against his chest and allowing him to cry against his jumper, knowing that if he'd still had the ability to produce tears he'd be soaking through the yarn. He rubbed his back and stroked his hair, murmuring quietly under his breath until he felt the shakes reduce and the hoarse crying ebb.

"There yeh go, s'okay," he murmured, sliding his hands down to Kieren's wrists and gently stroking his thumbs along the scars. "Come on, let's get yeh up," he said, standing up slowly and pulling the still trembling Kieren with him.

It wasn't until he had him sat down on the sofa with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in hand (not that he could drink it, but he knew from all their late-night chats and reminiscences that he found the smell comforting so he'd made an effort to keep some in the cupboard) that he asked.

"What happened?"

Kieren shook his head with a snort of humourless laughter. "S'nothing. I'm being stupid."

"Try me," Simon said, gentle but firm as he rested a hand on Kieren's knee.

Kieren met his gaze and knew he wasn't going to back down. He sighed, inhaling the rich scent of cocoa to bolster his spirits. "Just some guy. Recognised me- or maybe not, might've just seen my face and acted on instinct, but…" he could see Simon tensing up, probably jumping to all sorts of conclusions in his head, so Kieren hurriedly came out with it. "He spat in my face, okay? Threw some shockingly unoriginal insults at my back as I left, too. Look, it's really nothing, can we just-?"

He didn't get to finish as Simon crushed him to his chest, not caring about the hot drops of steaming liquid that splattered his jeans.

"I'm sorry," he said almost inaudibly, and Kieren could hear the guilt heavy in his voice.

"What? No, Si, you've got nothing to be…"

"It's my fault," he murmured. "Me and this job. You wouldn't even be walkin' round without mousse if I hadn't…"

Kieren had no idea what to even say to that. This hadn't been the reaction he'd expected at all- sympathy, sure. Anger, definitely. This weird, guilty sadness? This wasn't like Simon at all. Something else must have happened.

"Simon, what's going on?" he asked. No point beating about the bush.

Simon pulled back with a sad grimace. "Fame, that's what's goin' on. Startin' to wish I'd never exposed yeh to some stuff, now, is all."

"What're yeh talking about?" Kieren groaned. He wished he'd just get to the point already.

Simon sighed, running a hand back through his hair and ignoring the way it cracked the gel. "Studio's been getting… 'fan' mail."

Kieren's eyes widened. "When you say 'fan'…"

He winced. "There may 'ave been the odd death threat in there."

"_Fuck,_" Kieren breathed.

"Yeah," Simon agreed quietly with a slow nod of his head. "Fuck."

Silence fell over the room, the only sound the muffled roar of traffic from the street several stories below. Kieren clutched his hot chocolate closer to his chest, deeply inhaling the tantalising scent, remembering the feeling of warmth that used to spread through his body with every sip.

"D'you want to stop?"

Kieren stared at the Irish man's face, wondering if he'd really heard the words or if he'd been imagining it. But he looked sad, sincere, his eyes on Kieren's hands because he couldn't quite bring them to his face.

Kieren's cold, dead heart swelled. Simon would hate it if he stopped- he'd lose his favourite model, they might lose the studio, they could no longer work together, it would throw away everything they'd worked towards. But he was considering it.

He just didn't want him to be afraid. He would throw away the beginnings of an incredible career if he thought it would stop him getting hurt.

Kieren shook his head, reaching out to squeeze Simon's hand.

"No," he whispered. Simon looked up at him finally, and he gave him the bravest smile he could muster. "No, I don't want to stop. It's…" he shrugged. "Well, it's the best job I've ever 'ad- I want to see it through."

Simon stared at him, searching his face for any hint of doubt and finding none.

"Okay," he said quietly, nodding. "S'long as you're sure."

Kieren put his mug on the table, and leaned in closer till he could taste Simon's breath on his lips.

"I'm sure."

* * *

Simon pressed another gentle kiss behind Kieren's ear, the sleeping boy barely stirring as he pulled him closer to his chest. He knew he should be getting some sleep too, but he couldn't stop his mind from racing.

He hadn't been honest with Kieren. Or at least, not completely. There had been death threats, that much was true. But that wasn't all there was to it anymore.

Unfortunately, some of the 'fan' mail had actually been from fans- and not the kind of fans you want to know.

It was the way things always happened. A minority gains media coverage, through news or fashion or a sudden trend. Once the minority becomes known, some people start to obsess over it. Fetishize it. It had happened countless times over the years to humans, lusting after other humans of another, 'exotic' kind. He supposed it was only natural that PDS sufferers would be the next target.

Still, it was one thing to consider people of his kind in general becoming the subject of the perverse fantasies of the living. Considering Kieren as the subject made his stomach turn and his blood boil. His Kieren deserved better than to be some lonely human's late-night fantasy, an exotic fetish. Some of the letters had been bearable- sweet, even. Just shy notes from girls and boys alike, awkwardly complimenting their crush. He'd been planning to save up those ones and give them to Kieren next time he needed a self-esteem boost. Maybe he'd make a scrapbook.

But the other letters? No, too many crossed the line. Too many would make Kieren uncomfortable or maybe even scared if he read them. He'd love to find the senders of those poisonous correspondences and punch them in their lousy faces, demand they treat his Kieren with the respect he deserved.

But for now, the best he could do was keep protecting Kieren from the worst of it. He knew Kieren wouldn't approve if he knew he was doing this. He'd tell him he was a grown-up and he could handle it himself. And he could, Simon's sure of it. But he didn't want him to have to. It had been his decision to hire him. He was responsible for the new fame the man had to deal with, both of the pleasant and unpleasant variety. And he was determined to take responsibility for the consequences.

He trailed his fingers lightly over the curve of Kieren's shoulder, down across his chest and up his neck. God, he was beautiful. Every time he smiled the sun came out.

How could anyone _not _get addicted to him?

"Si?" Kieren mumbled, stirring under his gentle touches.

"Yeah?"

Kieren's eyes blinked slowly open, squinting in the gloom. "What time is it?"

Simon glanced up at the clock and grimaced at the bright red numbers reading 03:21. "You don't wanna know."

Kieren rolled over, facing Simon across the pillow with a sleepy frown. "Why're yeh awake? Something wrong?"

Simon met his drowsy gaze and considered telling the truth. He'd have to know eventually, after all.

But instead he shook his head, putting on a reassuring smile as he reached out to run a hand through Kieren's sleep-mussed hair. "Nah. Nothin' wrong. Just can't sleep."

The redhead smiled sympathetically, spreading a hand over Simon's chest and shuffling closer. "I can help yeh out with that, if you like…"

Their lips met in a slow, lazy kiss, Kieren draping his body over Simon's without taking his hand from its place above his unbeating heart. Simon reached up, tracing one hand down his back and entangling the other in his hair, the strands like silk against his clumsy fingers.

"Beautiful…" he murmured, trailing kisses from the corner of his mouth to his neck.

Kieren rolled his eyes, tilting his head to the side as Simon kissed a path down his throat. "Shut up," he mumbled.

Simon pulled back, meeting Kieren's pale eyes and seeing uncertainty in their depths. "Still don't believe it, do yeh?" he said softly, tightening his hands on the back of Kieren's neck. He stroked his thumbs across the younger man's pale cheeks, smiling tenderly. "How many bleedin' magazines do I 'ave to sell before you realise how perfect y'are?"

If Kieren had a blood flow, his face would be red. He bit his lip uncertainly, and the motion was so adorable Simon had to pull his face down into a searing kiss. Kieren returned it eagerly, hands gripping Simon's shoulders as their mouths explored each other, and something told Simon he was grateful for the excuse not to talk anymore.

One of these days he'd realise what he could do. Realise the kind of spell he put on people by merely existing.

But right now, Simon was just happy to show him in every little way he could.

* * *

The next morning Kieren woke up to sunlight on his face. He blinked in the glare, throwing an arm across his eyes- Simon must have left the curtains open. Again.

He considered going back to sleep, but after realising he'd have to get up to close the curtains anyway he decided it wasn't worth it. He sat up and stretched his arms, knowing it would do nothing to loosen the stiff joints from their time in the grave but enjoying the motion all the same. He glanced down at the rumpled bedding at his side, the covers tossed aside over a bare mattress. Simon must be up already.

He staggered to his feet, taking the time to climb into a pair of jeans and not bothering with anything else. They didn't have to be in work today- only reason he'd have to leave the house was if Amy called. Besides, he didn't really want to be wandering the streets after yesterday's… incident.

"Mornin'," a deep voice called from the kitchen.

Kieren rounded the corner to find Simon leaning against the wall, hooking the phone back on its cradle after muttering another goodbye to the voice on the other end. He slid a cigarette from his trouser pocket (apparently he hadn't seen the need for a shirt, either), popping it in his grinning mouth and fishing around for a lighter.

"Say, Kier…" he said thoughtfully, clicking the lighter and igniting the cig on the open flame. "Ever been to New York?"

Well, that was an interesting question to start the day. Kieren's brow furrowed. "No. Big holidays weren't exactly a thing in our family- never been further than Scotland."

Simon took a drag on the cigarette, smoke puffing from between his lips as he offered it to Kieren. "Been there once. 'Bout nine years ago, b'fore the Rising. Didn't really get a chance to enjoy it, though- need to see the sights with a clear head sometime."

Kieren took a small inhale of smoke- the smell reminded him of long nights in the cave with Rick, stolen fags and White Lightning- and stared at Simon as he handed it back. "Si, why're we talking 'bout New York?"

Simon smirked, perching the cig between his lips and slipping his hands in his pockets. "Fancy a trip?"

Kieren rolled his eyes. "Well, that sounds fantastic, but in what universe can we even _afford _that?"

"In the universe where we get an all-expenses-paid week there for photo shoot purposes," he said flatly, watching Kieren's expression turn from cynical to bewildered to downright disbelieving. "Which is this one, by the way."

Kieren stared at him with wide eyes. "No."

"Yes."

"Yer serious?"

"Yep."

"No fuckin' way!"

Simon grinned as Kieren launched himself into his arms, reaching up to pluck the cigarette from his mouth and stub it out on the counter. When both his hands were free he wrapped them round Kieren's waist, burying his beaming face in his shaking shoulder as the man's laughter racked his body.

"And you said yeh weren't pretty," Simon chuckled, feeling like he could float away on the sound of Kieren's joy shining brighter than the rising sun.

"Told yeh to shut up," Kieren smiled. But he was too dizzy with happiness, standing in the small kitchen of their shared home with adventure on the horizon, to do anything but kiss Simon on his smug Irish mouth.

Some mornings were too perfect to waste on arguments.

* * *

**Hope you liked!**

**I'm off to visit my friend's parents for the weekend, so I may still get on the net from time to time but writing's off the table for a few days, I'm afraid! I'll try and get something out next week before my next busy weekend of LARPing, though!**

**Until next time! X**


	4. Chapter 4

**Look at this, once again two different stories updated in the same day- I'm on a roll!**

**So, now we join Kier and Si in New York- are we in for cute zombie boyfriend day-trips or disappointment? You'll just have to read and find out! Also Dean cameo this chapter, yay! Might bring him back later, who knows.**

**(I should also mention that I by no means think all Americans are annoying/rude, but a couple of characters in this chapter are just based off loud-mouthed stereotypes because frankly I wanted 'em to be hate-able. They're standing in the way of Siren's happiness, they must be irritating! Also I have no idea what the situation with gun laws and stuff is in New York, I just kind of picture the States as this weird dystopian society where people wear rifles to Wal-Mart. So if you're American, please don't take offense at this chapter- I just write rich flamboyant American fashion types as loud-mouths.)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Getting off the plane, Kieren had felt excitement bubbling up inside him with every step. Suitcase bouncing merrily at his side with each loping stride, Simon had had to sprint in short bursts to keep up. Kieren was compiling a mental checklist in his head of all the things he wanted to do and places he wanted to see- just the sheer size of the buildings looming over his head was enough to scramble his head. Ooh, Empire State Building, _that_ was a definite yes. He could just picture it, leaning against the fence, looking down on the tapestry of light filtering up from the city that never slept, Simon at his side as his hand slips under his shirt, eyes meeting in the moonlight as their lips-

"_Kieren!_"

A hand gripped his arm and yanked him back a step, and a bright yellow cab raced past with a loud honk of its horn right where Kieren had been standing.

"Wanna get yeh head outta the clouds for a sec, Kier?" Simon panted, pulling him fully back onto the pavement.

Kieren winced. "Sorry. Sorry, I wasn't paying attention…"

Simon raised his eyebrow, and something told Kieren that he knew _exactly w_hat had had him so distracted. "Well, you ought'a start sometime soon- I hear you can get fined for walking across roads with no crossing over 'ere. I'm not sure how many near-death experiences our budget'll cover."

Kieren nodded, taking Simon's hand as it dropped from his arm and smiling shyly at him. "Yeah. Yeah, I know- don't worry, head in the game, I've got it!"

Simon chuckled, threading his fingers through Kieren's as he squinted at a nearby sign. "Well, looks like we've got a few blocks to walk b'fore we get to the hotel," he picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it in his haste to drag Kieren from the open road, pointing it up the street and grinning. "Shall we?"

Walking hand in hand with Simon, eyes darting anywhere and everywhere in his eagerness to drink it all in, Kieren didn't even notice all the horrified looks their bare faces received along the way.

* * *

Kieren wanted nothing better than to dump his luggage and take off into the city, drag Simon by the hand to see everything they could see. Unfortunately, they had a job to do. So he sat in the hotel lobby, leg jittering restlessly while he waited for their local contact to appear. The sooner they got briefed on the job, the sooner they could utilise their free time.

He barely wavered in his enthusiasm the whole morning, and when their contact arrived he had to resist the urge not to leap from his seat, mutter a hasty greeting and then barrel straight through those revolving doors into the waiting city.

Unfortunately, what their contact (a rather shrill woman named Nancy) had to say put a serious damper on his good mood.

They were given a list of locations to shoot in front of- mostly recommendations, to be honest, but good ones nonetheless- and a wallet full of American dollars for expenses.

They were also introduced to a man by the name of Dean, whose purpose was to protect them from being mugged or shot in the street.

"Thing is," Nancy had said in response to Kieren's wide-eyed look. "A lot o' folks round here still ain't too keen on…" she gestured vaguely to their faces. "Well, y'know."

"Same goes for England, sweetheart," Simon muttered, puffing anxiously on his third cigarette of the morning. "Never been too much to handle, mind."

"Well, yeah, in _England, _sure," she said, tapping her long acrylic nail on the table between them. "But in case you haven't noticed, little things like guns are much easier to come by this side of the pond."

She stood up, Kieren's suddenly terrified gaze following her as she swung her bag back over her shoulder.

"If y'all know what's good for you, you'll take all the help ya can get- a little cover-up between locations couldn't hurt," she suggested bluntly, fishing a business card from her jacket pocket and pressing it into Kieren's slack hand. "Anyway, some of my associates over at _Glamour_ are throwing a lil' _soiree_ on Friday night- y'all are welcome to make an appearance if you're not too busy…" she glanced between them, observing the non-existent personal space where their thighs pressed together on the couch and Simon's free hand rested on Kieren's knee. She smirked knowingly. "Sightseeing," she glanced meaningfully down at the contact, winking at Simon. "Don't got a problem with it myself, but ya might wanna be careful where you flaunt that around, too. Some people can be a little touchy."

And with that, she spun on her stylish heel and swept out.

Kieren gaped after her, not resisting as Simon plucked the card from his hand and slipped it into his jacket pocket. "Is she serious?" he asked, turning to Simon with wide eyes.

Simon winced, glancing up at Dean (still loitering quietly opposite like the dutiful guard dog he was, although his eyes kept flickering longingly to the vending machine across the lobby). "Probably best not to find out," he muttered, standing up and pulling Kieren with him. "Come on- looks like we've got some covering up to do."

If Kieren's eyes were wide before, they were practically blown out of proportion by that suggestion. "What d'you mean? Si, we're here for a reason- "_Au Natural in New York_"_, _remember? That's the whole point!"

"Don't worry, we're taking it off for the photos," Simon said angrily, and Kieren felt the grip on his hand tighten. "But for getting around… better play it safe."

Kieren sighed as they stepped into the lift, Simon pressing the button for their floor just as Dean slipped in beside them. Simon didn't give a shit about himself- he probably wouldn't mind getting shot or arrested in his natural state, he'd see it as good publicity for the cause. But Kieren knew by now that he'd do some ridiculous things to protect his model.

"Can't believe this…" Kieren muttered, squeezing Simon's hand in a grip that would have been white-knuckled. "Thought we were done jumping through fucking hoops for people."

Simon grimaced, looking straight ahead at the closing door.

"That's the thing about the 'Land of the Free'," he said quietly, bitterly. "Terms and conditions apply."

* * *

A lot of people may see Simon's process as messy or childish- for a professional photographer the man used a surprisingly small amount of professional equipment. But there was no denying that it got the job done, and fast- Kieren seriously doubted that they'd need the entire week to collect the shots they needed. Although he did wish the magazine could have forked out the extra money to let Amy come along, too. He could have used her help getting into some of the clothes he was supposed to wear.

"Stop fidgeting," Simon called, and he hastily dropped his hands from the stubborn buckle at the back of his coat- the thing just wouldn't tighten right. "Yeh look fine!"

Kieren sighed and returned to his position leaning against the lamppost. From this spot he got a perfect view of the New York Public Library. He'd asked Simon what the point of shooting the opposite side of the street to the landmark was, to which Simon had smirked and answered: "Come on, Kier, do we want the truth or the cliché?" It was such a pretentious photographer thing to say that Kieren didn't dignify it with an answer.

He smiled as the Irish man momentarily reached up from the camera to scratch furiously under his eye. Even the relatively sparse layer of cover-up was proving too much for him. He'd made an attempt to wipe it off at the same time as Kieren, but the model had insisted that it was unnecessary since he wasn't needed in front of the camera. It'd take more time for them both to cover-up again after each location, as well.

Still, he had to admit he did feel uncomfortably vulnerable alone with his bare face. His gaze flickered to Dean, who was perched on the steps of the library happily munching on a bacon sandwich. He couldn't say his presence made him feel any safer.

"Up a bit," Simon called softly. Kieren obligingly raised his chin, and the loud click of the camera rang out. "Great, keep it there. Stick your leg out a bit further, yeah?" Kieren did so, the right leg that was already slightly forward of the left stretching out until it rested on its heel, his back propped against the lamppost and his hands in the pockets of the coat. A few more rapid clicks later and Simon was giving him the thumbs-up that said it was time to move on.

As he sat on the steps beside Dean and hastily re-applied his cover-up, he did his best to ignore the sea of vicious glares thrown his way.

* * *

In the end, their assigned job took a little under three days- Simon definitely did not mess around. This, however, left them with four aimless days before they had to be on the next plane home.

Kieren looked down at the open notebook in his lap with a sigh. The page was covered top to bottom in black ink scrawls, scribbled the night before they'd left. All the places he wanted to go, all the things he wanted to see and do in their short time in the Big Apple. Looking at the list now felt like some kind of sick joke.

"I'm fine, Mum," he said into the phone, running a hand through his hair as his mother's concerned (and still slightly suspicious) voice sounded again. "No, it's fine, everyone's really nice," he lied smoothly, glancing out the window. He'd been on the receiving end of plenty of dirty looks in the UK but this was something else entirely.

"Well, long as yer sure, love," she said, but he could hear the concern in her voice.

He hesitated a moment before he asked the question that had been plaguing him. "Either of 'em ready to talk to me, yet?"

The silence on the other end was answer enough.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Alright. Maybe next time. Look, I've gotta go, I'll talk to yeh later. Bye, Mum."

He hung up, staring at the phone in his hand wistfully. He hadn't heard Jem's voice since the day he'd left home, or his father's. They may have had their disagreements, but he still missed them more than he could say.

"Kier?"

He looked down to his side with a smile. Simon was finally stirring. The Irish man blinked in the sunlight streaming through the blinds, rolling over to see Kieren sitting against the headboard, phone in hand. He smiled sleepily at him, but the smile dissolved when he looked into Kieren's eyes. "Somethin' wrong?"

Kieren shrugged, putting the phone back on the bedside table. "No. Just family stuff."

Simon grunted knowingly, stretching an arm out to drape over Kieren's lap and twine their fingers. His arm brushed the notebook on his lap, and he smiled softly.

"So, what do we do today, day-trip planner?" he smiled, glancing at the scrawled words on the page.

Kieren shook his head, closing the book and putting it down next to his phone. "Don't think that's such a good idea."

Simon frowned. "How come?"

"Well, we're slap bang in the middle of a city that wants us dead," Kieren muttered bitterly, holding tighter to Simon's hand. "Kind of kills the vibe."

"Same goes for London, doesn't stop us going outside," Simon said, dragging himself up into a sitting position at Kieren's side. "Bit o' danger really gets the blood pumping if yeh ask me. Well, figuratively speaking, anyway."

Kieren rolled his eyes. He wasn't really in the mood for morbid jokes today. "Yeah, but at least they only _stab_ in England. Not sure our blood'll be pumping- figuratively or otherwise- with a bullet in our brains."

"Just don't want yeh to miss out on this 'cause of those wankers," Simon said quietly, leaning his head against Kieren's shoulder. "Besides, we've got Dean with us- he's packing, too."

"I think Dean'd rather be watching the sarnie stand than our backs," Kieren said dryly. The bloke seemed nice enough, but he didn't have the best attention span for his line of work. "Caught 'im playing Angry Birds on his phone the other day when he was supposed to be watching us."

Simon couldn't argue with that. So he decided to try for a compromise instead.

"Alright, how 'bout this," he said, putting a hand on Kieren's knee and looking him in the eye. "You let me take yeh somewhere tonight- I'll tell Dean to pay attention for an evening. After that we don't have to leave the bloody room all week if you don't want. Sound fair?"

Kieren smiled and nodded. "Yeah, alright. Deal."

Simon squeezed his knee and stood up, scooping some clothes from the open suitcase at his bedside. "Well, then, looks like I've got some stuff to sort- you relax, I'll be right back!"

He wandered over to the bathroom, pulling his shirt on along the way. Kieren's brow furrowed, thinking back to what Simon said about his last visit to New York- drugged, depressed, sleeping in ditches. He'd come on this trip with the aim of seeing all the sights he'd missed with a clear head and a fresh outlook.

"Simon," he called, and heard the man mumble a 'yeah?' through the door as he inexpertly slathered his cover-up. Kieren shifted about on the bed. "If you wanna go places, you can. I mean, you don't 'ave to wait around fer me just 'cause I-"

Simon poked his head back around the door, half made-up and giving Kieren a stern look. "No deal."

End of discussion.

* * *

"Where're you taking me?" Kieren laughed, stumbling along blindly as Simon steered him by his shoulders.

Simon chuckled, double-checking that the blindfold was in place before continuing on their way. "Shut up, it's a surprise. Right, stand still a bit."

Kieren smiled as he heard a tell-tale beep and the whoosh of doors closing. So, they were in a lift. It wasn't much of a lead, but it was a start.

After what felt like an unreasonably long time travelling upwards, the lift finally _pinged _to a halt, the doors slid open and Simon took a firm hold of Kieren's shoulders as he steered him out. "See yeh in a bit, Dean!" he said, and Kieren could hear the smile in his voice. "Keep your eyes peeled!"

"Aye," Dean sniggered, and his voice sounded further away than it had before.

"Isn't 'e coming with us?" Kieren asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

"Nope," Simon said brightly. "Don't worry 'bout it- he's still doin' his job."

Suddenly, a gust of fresh air rushed past Kieren's face, and his eyes widened beneath the blindfold. When had they ended up back outside? "Simon, where _are_ we?"

After a few more steps Simon finally brought them to a standstill, and his hands moved up to take a hold of the blindfold. "Why don't yeh see for yourself?"

He gently pulled the blindfold off, and Kieren had to blink a few times to understand what he was looking at.

"_Fuck…_" he gasped, taking a few trance-like steps closer to the bars as he looked down on the endless vibrant tapestry of the city at night. "Is this…?"

"Empire State Building," Simon smiled as Kieren's hand reached up to grip one of the bars. "Saw yeh sketching it in your book- thought you'd like to see it in person!"

Kieren tore his gaze away from the breath-taking view to look at the even more breath-taking man at his side. Simon hadn't gelled his hair today, and it was ruffling gently in the breeze from the sea. For once he wasn't smoking like a chimney, his hands instead tucked into the pockets of his big coat as his gaze wondered between the bright spots of light in the world at their feet.

He caught Kieren looking and smiled, slightly self-consciously. "Sorry, guess there's not much to do up here- can't exactly get a picnic, well, we could but we couldn't actually-"

"It's perfect," Kieren grinned, stretching out a hand and weaving his fingers with Simon's. "Thank you."

His other hand went to Simon's neck, he propped himself up on his tiptoes and gently pressed their lips together. Simon hesitated, as he always did- like he couldn't quite believe what was happening. But then the moment passed and he kissed back, hands grazing a trail from Kieren's jaw to his collar, chest, and settling at his waist. Every touch sent a fresh wave of sensation through Kieren's undead body, his skin sparked at the contact.

He broke away, chasing breaths he had no use for and looking up into the Irish man's intense white eyes. As he tilted his head back he felt it push against something metal, and he frowned. How long had he had his back pressed up against the bars? That was new.

And that wasn't the only thing he noticed.

"Simon," he said slowly, looking over the photographer's shoulder to the empty deck behind him. "Why isn't anyone else up 'ere?"

Simon shuffled his feet guiltily. "Fair question. There may be some caution tape up on the doors… and a sign in the lobby about a fairly major structural flaw…"

Kieren raised his eyebrow. "Simon, did you tell everyone this place was a death trap to buy a few hours alone?"

"Maybe…" Simon mumbled, turning back to Kieren with a smirk. "Any objections?"

"None whatsoever," Kieren grinned, pulling Simon's mouth back to his. The photographer gasped softly against his lips and his hands flew up to cradle Kieren's jaw.

He was too caught up in the moment to notice as Kieren spun them round, pressing Simon back against the barrier and gripping the bars either side of his waist. As he pulled back from Simon's mouth and instead turned his attention to his neck and collarbone, he couldn't help but admire the view from this new position. And the soundtrack- as another gentle nip to his skin had Simon's breath catching in his throat, Kieren decided he had to take the reins and push the Irish man against walls more often.

* * *

"Ready?" Simon asked, straightening Kieren's tie with a smile.

Kieren gulped and nodded, fiddling with one of his cufflinks nervously. Once again they were standing in the elevator of a too-tall building, the numbers slowly ticking by as they ascended through the levels.

"Hey," Simon said softly, stilling Kieren's hand with his own. "It's gonna be fine- we'll just make an appearance, stay an hour or so and call it a night. Early flight tomorrow."

Kieren took a deep breath as the numbers counted down ever closer. "Sorry 'bout everything this week, Si- I know you wanted to see the city-"

Simon rolled his eyes, stopping him with a kiss. "Kier," he said gently, meeting the younger man's confused gaze. "Quit apologising. If I wanted to go sight-seeing, I'dve gone bloody sight-seeing."

"So why didn't yeh?" Kieren asked quietly.

"Why bother?" Simon snorted, his eyes flickering across Kieren's face, down to his lips and back to his eyes with a flirtatious smirk. "Had the most beautiful sight in the city right there in the hotel room with me."

Kieren narrowed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "You smooth motherfucker."

Simon winked, and Kieren thought his knees might actually buckle. He was getting good at sarcastically deflecting the charming devil's compliments now, but that didn't make him any less surprised to be on the receiving end of them.

The lift ground to a halt, the doors slid open smoothly, and suddenly they were surrounded by noise and people.

"'Ey, there they are!" a voice from near the door called, and a stocky man in an impeccably tailored waistcoat strode over to them with his hand outstretched. "Men of the hour- welcome to the Big Apple! Can I get ya a drink- scotch, wine…?"

"Uh," Kieren blinked as the chipper man shook his hand enthusiastically.

"No, thanks," Simon said, patting Kieren's shoulder reassuringly. "Haven't touched the stuff in five years, we're doing pretty well."

"Oh, right, of course!" the man exclaimed, smacking his forehead with a laugh. "_Always _slips my mind! Hey, you guys ain't the only ones, Carolyn over there's in the same boat- _hey, Carolyn!_"

The pretty blond PDS sufferer across the room rolled her eyes and walked away. Obviously she was used to being singled out.

The man just laughed it off, slapping Simon's back heartily, and sweeping an arm towards the crowded room. "Ah, she gets cranky. Make yourselves at home, guys- dance, mingle, whatever, no need to worry, we're all cool here! I'll catch up with ya later, I gotta go have a word with the barkeep about cutting off Betty- that's her third bottle of red! Nice to meet ya both!"

And with that, he was gone.

"Well, he was… perky," Kieren said.

"Yeah," Simon snorted. "Americans. So, moving on?"

* * *

Despite his best efforts to stick to his photographer's side, eventually Kieren found himself adrift on his own in the crowd, hovering awkwardly with a drink pressed into his hand by a passing server. He didn't know how the busy waiter had failed to notice his milk-white skin and whiter eyes, but somehow he'd pulled it off. Maybe he could just pass it off to someone?

He felt insignificant in the crush, ducking and weaving to avoid colliding with other loud-mouthed party-goers (most of whom had already had too much to drink). Occasionally if he caught sight of Simon through the crowds he tried to head towards him, but he always found himself diverted. He might as well be fighting the tide. Jesus, were fashion magazine parties always this, for want of a better word, brutal? It was like the Hunger Games if the tributes wore Chanel and Louboutin stilettos.

Finally the movement of the crowd brought him close to the wall and a quiet hollow by a doorway, and he leapt from the melee onto the small island of calm. He was just catching his pointless breath when he heard a soft laugh from beside him and nearly jumped out of his skin.

A tall man with sandy hair and glasses that probably cost more than Kieren's entire wardrobe smiled at him, nodding towards the glass in his hand. "I thought y'all had a little trouble with stuff like that?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," Kieren mumbled, fidgeting in embarrassment. "Someone just kind of handed it to me."

The man laughed again, holding out his hand. "How 'bout I take that for ya?"

"Ah, thanks," Kieren said, passing it over eagerly. He was glad to be rid of the thing- any longer and he would have looked ridiculous.

The man smiled, raising the glass in a mock toast. "Cheers," he said, downing the glass and holding out his free hand. "Larry Bailey, _Vogue- _New York branch_._"

"Oh, uh, Kieren Walker," Kieren said, shaking the man's hand. "_In The Flesh._"

Larry's eyes widened. "No kidding? Thought I recognised you- you're the one who's been taking the UK by storm, right?"

"I wouldn't exactly go that far…" Kieren mumbled, but the man would not be dissuaded that easily.

"Been making some waves over here, too, I can tell ya," Larry grinned, dropping the empty glass onto a tray as a waiter brushed past. "Still, big country- unfortunately you need a little more than an independent British rag mag to make a difference round these parts."

Kieren smiled politely, trying not to be offended at the term _rag mag _being applied to his livelihood.

"Personally I think it's great, this cause of yours," Larry said, and Kieren bristled slightly at the patronising tone. "I'm one hundred percent behind it, don't get me wrong- just seems like you're gonna have to move on to some bigger audiences if you really wanna make an impact!"

"Well, I appreciate the advice, but-" Kieren began again, only to pause as Larry held a small card out to him.

"My card," Larry smiled, slipping it into Kieren's hand. "You know, we have plenty of room for someone like you in our ranks over at _Vogue _if you ever feel like taking the next step- all ya need to do is ask!"

Kieren blinked slowly at the card, shiny and embossed. It was one hell of an offer, even he knew that. The kind of paycheques he'd get from this job would make what he made at _In The Flesh _look like a ten year-old's pocket money. He could only imagine the kind of people he'd be working with- models, designers, photographers of world-wide renown. Make a few friends in that circle and he'd be set for life. He'd have to be pretty fucking stupid to-

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said, handing the card back.

Larry raised his eyebrow, tucking the card back in his jacket pocket. "That so?"

Kieren nodded. "Ta for the offer, but I'm not going anywhere."

Larry laughed, shaking his head incredulously. "Y'know, in all my years in this job, I don't think I've ever heard of a newcomer turning down a job offer from us- boy, you see something new every day!"

"Guess so," Kieren chuckled, shrugging away from the wall. "Well, nice talking to yeh, but I've got someone to find- it's gonna take me all night, might as well get started."

"See ya around," Larry said, nodding at Kieren as he slipped into the crowd.

Once again, Kieren found himself being swept along with the tide, a certain white-eyed face at the forefront of his mind. The part of his brain that wasn't searching for Simon was scolding himself for turning down that offer- bloody hell, he could have at least kept the card and said he'd think about it!

But a little part of him knew he wouldn't have thought about it. Pretended to think about it, maybe, just to avoid feeling guilty, but he would have already made up his mind.

He could have had an opportunity to work with some truly amazing photographers at that magazine- experts in their field, widely-respected, who could have launched his career to new heights.

But none of them would be Simon.

None of his stylists would be Amy. He wouldn't come in to the sound of Shirley's cheerful voice, wouldn't exchange playful insults with Amy across the room as she winked and made obscene gestures behind Simon's head while he worked. He wouldn't chat to Philip every Tuesday in graphics, hear all the details of his developing relationship with the beautiful genius herself. Wouldn't see them loitering in dark corners and behind clothing racks just to steal a few minutes alone together, hear their tell-tale giggles from their hiding places as they prepared to spring out and surprise people.

Most of all, he wouldn't feel Simon's eyes on his face every day- telling him he was beautiful, and giving him the courage to be so.

After what felt like far too long, he saw a familiar dark-haired figure by the window. He grinned, elbowing through the crowds- he wouldn't be dragged away this time.

His smile faltered when he saw that Simon was talking to someone. A woman, tall and gorgeous, chestnut hair immaculately waved down her back. He saw her pass something to Simon- a small white card. Saw Simon take it, nod his thanks and slip it into his pocket. Saw them exchange a few more words, a handshake. Saw her slip away into the crowd with a smile.

Kieren felt like the ground had fallen out from beneath him. Simon wouldn't abandon him just like that, would he? Fucking hell, he'd been so busy getting emotional over his job, he hadn't even considered that Simon might…

Simon saw him and beamed, waving to catch his attention- as if he needed to do that, Kieren was already riveted. The Irish man walked over to him, reaching out. Kieren took his hand without even thinking.

"There y'are," he said, clinging tightly to Kieren's hand as if afraid he might disappear again. "Having fun?"

Kieren snorted derisively. "What d'you think?"

"Yeah, neither," Simon chuckled, releasing Kieren's hand and instead slinging an arm over his shoulders. "Wanna get out of here? I think the novelty's worn off."

Kieren nodded, letting Simon lead him back towards the elevator. He didn't bring up Larry, or the offer, or the mysterious woman with the card.

Maybe ignorance really was bliss.

* * *

**There ya go! Any thoughts? :D**

**BTW I've decided to add a sixth chapter as a kind of epilogue to the story, so yeah two more chapters :)**

**Oh, and if you still haven't seen the film please just look at this gif set and understand why thinking of this film in terms of Siren gives me butterflies :3 post/72327703523/well-take-manhattan-uk-2012**

**Until next time! X**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm back, yo!**

**Sorry this has taken a while- lotta fics on the go at the moment!**

**So this is kind the big fluffy climax of the story, although I will be writing an epilogue- kind of a 'some ways down the road' thing! Until then, this is your lot- I hope you enjoy it! Featuring mucho Siren and Phamy fluff, although we do have a rather unpleasant appearance from Gary (also I kind of get the feeling that Rick never used to stand up for Kieren much, you know what with the way he laughed along with Gary when he was insulting him, so I apologise if the brief mentions of Rick seem a little mean but I kind of needed them for an important comparison. I understand Rick's behaviour, but that doesn't mean I excuse it.)**

**Well, enjoy!**

**(Also the song is La Vie en Rose- original French lyrics by Edith Piaf, although I've been listening to the English cover by Louis Armstrong. So obviously, I own nothing! Listen to it, both versions are super great!)**

* * *

Kieren leaned his head against the window, gazing down at the endless carpet of clouds beneath their feet. He'd never been on a plane before this trip, and the way to the States had been an exhilarating voyage of discovery. The way back, less so. Frankly he had too much on his mind to really enjoy the scenery.

"Not long now," Simon said softly at his side. Kieren nodded his head mutely.

"…Kieren?"

Kieren turned to look at him. Simon was watching him carefully, restlessly rolling a cigarette he wasn't allowed to light between his fingers.

"You alright?" he asked. "You've been pretty quiet…"

"'M fine," Kieren mumbled, picking at his sleeve and looking down.

"Well, yeh have me convinced," Simon grunted, tucking the unlit fag behind his ear and crossing his arms over his chest.

Kieren rolled his tongue in his mouth, biting back an angry comment. Because frankly he wasn't alright. Not even close. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered how much Simon didn't tell him- that scar on his back that he'd seen and felt a hundred times but still had no explanation for, the beautiful woman slipping a card into his hand with a knowing smile. And the more he thought that Simon held things back from him, the more he wondered if _anything_ the Irish man said held any truth whatsoever. It felt deceitful to even think it- he pretty much owed everything he had now to the man, after all. But he'd sacrificed for him, too. He was starting to wish he'd at least _kept_ the card from Vogue…

"Simon?"

Simon turned his head back to him, watching his face expectantly. "Yeah?"

"Are you always…" he sighed, leaning his head back against the seat. "Are you always honest with me?"

Simon blinked, obviously taken aback by the question. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean, if something happened, something big or important, even if it's bad…" Kieren stared at him, their milk-white eyes meeting across the armrest. "You'd tell me, right?"

Simon hesitated a few seconds too long before answering. "Yeah, of course."

Kieren frowned at the unmistakeable flicker of guilt in his eyes. "That's what I thought," he murmured, letting the silence hang thick and heavy between them for a moment.

"Kieren," Simon said softly. "What's brought this on?"

Kieren thought about being honest with him- telling him that he saw him with that woman, confronting him on it. May as well just be straight with him.

"I got an offer," he said, taking a completely different tack. It probably wasn't smart, but he wanted to gauge Simon's reaction. "From _Vogue_."

Simon's eyes widened, and he smiled. "That's great- well, they'd have to be stupid not to notice yeh."

"Not as stupid as me," Kieren muttered.

"What's that?" Simon asked, raising his eyebrow.

Kieren sighed, propping his head against the window. "Turned it down."

Even without looking back, Kieren could tell that Simon's eyes must have been popping out of his sockets. "What, why?"

Kieren just shrugged. He wasn't in the mood to answer.

"So…" Simon murmured after an uncomfortable period of silence. "That the only offer you got?"

"Yeah," Kieren said, smirking humourlessly. "Guess I'm not as desirable as yeh thought."

He closed his eyes, speaking before Simon had a chance to protest. "I'm tired. Wake me up when we're landing."

Of course, there was no way he could fall asleep right now.

But for the remainder of the flight, at least, he'd rather not look Simon in the eye.

* * *

They spent the rest of the flight in silence, and Simon made no effort to speak to Kieren even though he had a strong hunch that the boy wasn't really sleeping.

_Vogue. _Wow. He shouldn't have been surprised- anyone could see the kid had the face of an angel, mousse or no mousse. Any magazine should be tripping over themselves to scout him, and lord knows he deserved the pay raise. He should've known Kieren would eventually realise how much more he could have. It was great. Great. Fucking great.

So he'd put on a brave face as Kieren told him, prepared to be as blindly encouraging as possible.

So imagine his surprise when he found out Kieren turned it down.

His first instinct was to insistently demand an explanation- Jesus, possibly the biggest career opportunity of his first _and _second life and he'd _turned it down? _Actually, that was a lie. His first instinct had been to grin, cheer and kiss that stupid fucking idiot right on the mouth because thank fucking _God _he wasn't going anywhere. That wouldn't always be the case (for either of them) but it was something.

Both instincts had gone ignored. It didn't look like Kieren was in the mood for either of them.

Instead he spent the remainder of the flight quietly stewing in guilt. Kieren was right- he wasn't honest with him. He still hadn't told him about the dodgy 'fan' mail he'd been receiving. He just wanted him to feel… well, safe. He didn't want to give him anything more to worry about than he already had. Did Kieren know? Was that why he was angry? It could be any number of reasons- was it the mail? The scar? Was he just starting to regret turning down that offer? The kid wasn't giving him any clues.

By the time the seatbelt sign once again lit up neither of them had said another word. The silence continued through the landing, barely a sentence uttered between them as they made their way through customs and baggage collection. Simon thought about trying to speak up on their way to the taxi rank, but as it turned out they didn't make it that far.

"Mum!" Kieren exclaimed, bags bouncing at his side as he jogged over to the woman waving at them from the behind the barrier.

"'Ello, Love," she smiled, hugging him tightly. "How was yer flight?"

"Uneventful," Kieren said, pulling back with a confused smile. "What're you doing here?"

She shrugged, fiddling with the zip on her coat. "Thought I'd pick you up, save yeh the taxi fare," her voice softened. "And Steve and Jem want to talk to yer."

Even from a few steps back, Simon could see Kieren gulp nervously. "Oh, er, alright- where are they?"

"Havin' a pint in the pub down the road," she said, smiling over his shoulder at Simon. "You joining us, Simon? We'll give yeh both a lift home after."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Simon shrugged, picking up Kieren's extra bag despite the man's protests. "Thanks."

The short walk to the pub passed in yet more silence. Well, for Simon it did- Kieren and Sue seemed to be keeping up some kind of stilted conversation. It was clear that Kieren still had no idea where he stood with his family, but he was making an effort. That was just one of the many wonderful things about Kieren Walker- he never stopped trying to make things right.

They still had plenty of things to discuss themselves, but Simon resolved to wait until they got home. In the meantime he'd sit somewhere out of the way, keep quiet and give Kieren his space to sort things out with his family. He lamented not being able to pass the time with a pint anymore.

They approached the pub, and Simon heard the dull roar of voices through the warmly glowing windows, although the glass was too thick and decorative to see inside. Maybe if Kieren was taking his time he could step out and take some photos- it was definitely atmospheric.

Perhaps if they hadn't had so much on their minds they would have noticed the way Sue slowed down ever so slightly to allow them to reach the door first. Maybe they would have noticed the way the voices quieted down a little as they neared the door and their outlines appeared through the frosted glass.

As it was, they were completely unprepared for the collective shout of "SURPRISE!" as they crossed the threshold.

"What the-?" Kieren exclaimed, almost jumping out of his skin.

"Feckin' Hell!" Simon exclaimed, almost jumping into Kieren's arms.

"Welcome back, BDFFs!" Amy laughed, flinging her arms around them both.

"Amy, bloody 'Ell, what is this?" Kieren huffed as she rammed bodily into them, knocking the air from their useless lungs.

"What d'you think? It's the welcoming committee!" she grinned, gesturing widely to the room and the many balloons adorning every light fixture.

"Yeah, it's not been the same without you," Philip smiled, standing at Amy's side. "Amy's been pining, of course."

"Ha! Cheeky bugger," Amy giggled, slapping his chest playfully.

"Anyway, it's fab to have yer back," Shirley beamed, stepping forward and plopping a party hat on Simon's head before he had a chance to back away. "We all chipped in, booked the place for the night- showing our appreciation for all the hard work you've been doing!"

"Yeah, that's what we've been doing," Simon muttered. _For about three days followed by four days in bed doing all kinds of very un-work related things, _he silently added.

"Well, time for a night off then, I'd say!" Amy chirped, grabbing Simon by the arm and yanking him from Kieren's side. "Come on, Mymon, time for a dance!"

"Hey-!" Simon protested, but she stopped him by leaning close and murmuring in his ear.

"I think Kier and the fam have a bit of catching up to do- better leave 'em to it, eh?"

Simon glanced back at Kieren, white eyes nervous as he approached his father and sister where they sat by the bar, and sighed. It was true- Kieren had bigger things on his plate at the moment.

"Alright, then," he said, trying to inject some forced enthusiasm into his voice. "Let's dance."

* * *

"Alright, Kier?" Steve asked, voice gruff.

Kieren nodded wordlessly in response, fingers fiddling anxiously with his sleeve.

"Good flight?"

"Yeah. Yeah, good," Kieren mumbled.

"Simon alright?"

Two little words and still such a loaded question. It could mean one of many things- is Simon healthy/happy? Is Simon doing well at his job? Is your relationship with Simon alright? What kind of relationship do you two _have_, exactly? Still strictly professional? Something more? Is he treating you right? Are you sure about this? _Really_ sure?

"He's fine."

Steve nodded slowly, looking Kieren up and down. He stood up from his seat at the bar, taking a few steps closer so they were eye to eye. "I'm still not sure what kind of a situation you've got yerself in, Kier," he said, looking to Sue for encouragement. "And I'm not sure I want to, at least not at the moment."

Kieren nodded sadly. He'd expected as much.

"Are yeh happy, Kier?"

He hadn't expected that.

He stared for a few seconds, finally answering with a rapid bob of his head. "Yeah. I am."

Steve gave a terse nod back. "Good. That's good," he reached out and patted Kieren once on the shoulder. "Well, like I said I'm still not sure what's going on with yer right now, Kier, but… well, long as yer safe and s'long as yer happy, that's all I need to know. Well, for now."

"Thanks, Dad," Kieren mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

Steve smiled, wrapping Kieren in an awkward yet sincere hug before walking with Sue to the other end of the bar to order drinks. Kieren sighed, turning back to find Jem watching him. "Hey, sis," he said with an uneasy smile.

"Alright, bro," she smirked, taking a swig of her pint. "So, you actually been working?"

He raised his eyebrow. "Yeah, 'course."

"_Right_- sorry, s'pose I was thrown by the love bite on yer neck."

Kieren's hand automatically flew up to his neck before he remembered it was literally impossible for his body to bruise anymore. "Oi!"

"Gotcha," she chuckled.

"Dick," he mumbled, biting back a grin. He took a step closer to the bar, and when she showed no signs of protest he dropped down onto the stool at her side. "So," he began uncomfortably, hands in his pockets. "What you been up to, since…?"

"Y'know, stuff," she said, tracing shapes in the condensation on her glass. "Applied for college- music theory."

"Jem, that's great!" he beamed.

"Bunch of weird Italian words and pretentious terms that no one ever _really _uses, but yeah, it's alright," she shrugged. "Found my old bass guitar, too, thought I'd try getting back into it," she looked up at him and smiled. "'Bout time I moved on with me life, eh?"

"Yeah, 'course it is," he smiled, slinging one arm across her shoulders. Fortunately, she didn't seem to mind. "If you've found something you wanna do, you should go for it."

She smiled, bumping her head against his shoulder. "Yeah, still don't know if it's gonna go anywhere, but I reckoned I didn't have anything to lose."

"Well, might as well give it a go, eh?" Kieren said brightly.

"Aye," she agreed with a smile as she leaned back against the counter. She watched his face as his arm slipped from her shoulders.

He gulped, looking down at his hands. "Jem, I'm sorry about… well, everything. Leaving and all that. I didn't mean to ditch yeh like that. I just needed to get away for a bit, y'know?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," she said quietly. "I get yer."

"So…" he asked uneasily. "We alright?"

She rolled her eyes. "'Course we are, yeh twat."

She picked up her glass and raised it in a mock toast. "Cheers, lil' bro- it's good to have yeh back!"

"Good to be back," he grinned, raising an imaginary glass and bumping it against hers. He was too relieved even to complain about the 'little' part.

She took a swig, eyes wondering across the crowded room and glimpsing Simon, his hands on Amy's waist as they danced. "Kier?"

"Yeah?"

"You are happy, aren't yeh?" she asked, turning her gaze back to him. "You weren't just lying so Mum and Dad would stop worrying, right?"

He turned away, eyes falling on Simon. He smiled and shook his head. "No, I wasn't. It's true."

She followed his gaze, smiling knowingly. "He's good to you, yeah? I know you haven't always had the best taste in blokes."

"Ta, sis," he muttered. He watched Simon, swaying along with Amy in completely the wrong time with the music being played, party hat yanked off his head and slung round his neck by the elastic, and smiled. "But yeah, he is."

She smiled, patting his shoulder as she signalled the bartender for another pint. Kieren sat back and watched Simon as he and Amy broke apart, the latter skipping off across the room while Simon hung back with Philip. He was telling the truth- he really was happy.

He just had no idea how long it could last.

* * *

"So," Simon started awkwardly, glancing at Philip from the corner of his eye. He'd never had much extended interaction with him before- at least not without Amy there as an intermediary. "How's everyone been, while we've been away?"

"Oh, you know, same old," Philip shrugged, sipping his lemonade (sadly he'd been landed the job of designated driver). "Business as usual, really- although Amy hasn't stopped whining about it since you left."

"Of course," Simon chuckled. He looked at Philip's face, surveying Amy across the room while she talked to an old acquaintance. Those were some heart eyes if ever he'd seen them. "How've things been with you two?"

A dreamy expression crossed his face. "Brilliant. She's amazing…"

"That she is," Simon murmured, gazing fondly at her as she dragged several hesitant partygoers onto the dance floor.

"I've only known her a few months, but it feels like so much longer, you know?" Philip rambled. "Feels like I've known her my whole life."

He tapped his nails on his glass, nervous excitement moving his fingers. "Can you keep a secret?"

Simon blinked- this wasn't how he'd expected the conversation to go. "Uh, yeah, I s'pose…?"

"'Cause between you and me," Philip said quietly, glancing up with a little smile to make sure she was out of earshot. "I'm thinking of asking her."

"Asking…?" Simon muttered. Realisation dawned, his eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Philip grinned. "Seriously."

"Wow," Simon said quietly, glancing between Amy and Philip. They'd been working together long before Kieren had joined the team, but he'd never figured them for perfect couple material- obviously Philip had liked her, but he'd never pictured anything happening between them. He'd seemed too subdued for Amy, too at odds with her restless personality. Who knew they would balance each other out so well? "You sure about this, mate? You haven't been together all that long."

"Well, yeah, but…" Philip shrugged again, smiling warmly. "Sometimes you just _know, _you know?"

"Yeah," Simon murmured, catching sight of a familiar copper-haired head across the pub. "Yeah, think I do…"

He slid the hat's elastic over his head, dropping it on a nearby table as he turned back to Philip with a grimace. "You know there's no way in Hell anyone in this country's gonna approve a living-PDS marriage, right?"

"Oh, I know," Philip said with a nod. "But it's just a bit of paper in the end, isn't it? Thought that counts, and all that. I mean, even if it never amounts to anything more than a very long, informal engagement, it'll be worth it."

He fiddled with the flower on his chest, the bright red one from Amy's hair that she'd clipped onto his jacket earlier, and a wistful smile spread across his face.

"I love her," he said quietly, thoughtfully. "And I want to make sure she knows it. I mean, it's all well and good having feelings for someone, but what good is it if you never tell 'em? If you don't say what's on your mind, what's the point? It may not have any legal standing, but it's a gesture- and it's no less than she deserves…"

He looked up at Simon with a smile, lifting his glass to his lips. "It's about taking the leap, isn't it?"

He set the empty glass down on the table beside the discarded hat and left with a parting grin, walking over to join Amy across the room. Simon saw him throw and arm across her shoulders, saw her stand up on tiptoes to give him a brief kiss on the lips, leaning back with a sweet smile. She looped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his chest as they slid smoothly into a slow dance (completely wrong for the upbeat pop track playing over the speakers). He looked past them to the boy with red-gold hair at the bar, smile lighting the room as he sat chatting to his sister.

"You know what, Philip?" Simon muttered to the open air, not quite believing what he was about to say. "I think you may be right…"

* * *

Kieren was used to sitting at the side-lines at parties, but this time he really didn't mind. It was satisfying, seeing all the people he knew- loved ones and work colleagues alike- dancing and having a good time. Even Jem was getting into it- unsurprisingly, she was getting plenty of male (and occasionally female) attention. Good for her, she deserved a bit of fun. So long as it wasn't with-

"Evenin', Dryrot."

Kieren groaned. Who the fuck invited him?

"Gary."

Gary leaned beside him at the bar, sneering down from above his half-drained pint. He wondered how many of those he'd had so far this evening.

"Where's that sister o' yours?" he sneered.

"I don't think that's any of yer business," Kieren said coldly, glowering up at him.

"Her loss," Gary huffed, slamming his glass down on the counter. "'Ow about you, dead 'ead? All alone, again? Not surprised- not as pretty as the other gels, are yeh? Don't imagine yer too good at holding down a man."

"Wow, calling me a girl, how very original," Kieren said dryly, shaking his head.

"Ah, don't worry 'bout it, sweetheart," Gary continued, undeterred. "Sure some bloke'll throw yeh a sympathy shag one of these days- I'd ask yer sis for advice, she's good at that sort o' thing."

Kieren clenched his fist on his knee, but bit his tongue. There was no point rising to anything Gary had to say- soon as he figured out he wasn't going to get anywhere he'd bugger off. Still, it was one thing to sit back and take insults directed at himself, it was another thing entirely to sit still while he slagged off his little (big?) sister.

"Actually, I heard you've got yerself a bloke, now," Gary prodded, eyeing Simon across the room distastefully. "Rotters gotta stick together, eh? Reckon I can guess which one of yeh's the fella in that relationship."

Kieren desperately wanted to say something, something to scare him off or gross him out so he'd leave him alone. Maybe he could just steer into it? _Well, if you mean who wears the strap-on, we actually take it in turns. _That'd shut him up… or just give him more fuel. _Ah, fuck._

Truth was, no matter how much of his inner sass was just raring to burst out, he often found himself crumbling under pressure. Just listening to Gary's mean-spirited digs (no matter how pointless and juvenile they were) sent his mind back to years ago, those days when Gary and others like him would ruthlessly pick on him. Cornering him in the corridors, pushing him down in the playground, making jokes at his expense and making the whole school laugh along. Those were the days he'd run home, slammed the door to his bedroom and curled up on the floor with tears running down his face. Not even the heavy metal music and punk clothes he'd worn like a shield in his teenage years had done a thing to deter them.

And Rick hadn't been much help, either. At least not until everyone else was out of sight.

"Hope the lad knows what 'e's got himself into," Gary said, chuckling coldly. "Better tell 'im to hide all the sharp implements, eh?"

Kieren scratched at the scars on his wrists, anger rising up in him.

_Gary shoving him to the ground._

_His whole gang laughing, chanting, calling him 'fag', 'fairy', every other slur under the sun._

_Rick standing at the side, eyes apologetic as he laughs with them._

Kieren slammed his hand down on the counter.

No way around it- as usual, he had to fight his own battles.

"Gary-"

He didn't make it any further before Gary was making a choking noise, his collar being yanked sharply away from his throat.

"He bothering yeh, Kier?"

Kieren stared at Simon, dumbstruck. Simon's fist tightened in Gary's shirt, almost lifting him from the floor. "Could do without 'im," Kieren said quietly.

Simon smirked coldly at Gary. "You heard the man," he said, shoving Gary away towards the door. "Time to move on."

Gary looked like he was going to kick up a fuss, but obviously something in Simon's face told him it would be the last thing he ever did. Instead he glowered and slunk away, striding out into the cold street and leaving his half-empty pint behind, the only sign he'd ever been there.

"You alright?"

Kieren nodded mutely, still wrapping his head around the very unlikely events of the past thirty seconds. "You helped me."

Simon furrowed his brow, confused. "Yeah, 'course I did."

Kieren stared at him a moment longer, trying to work out the right words to show his gratitude. But before he could begin the Irish man moved the conversation hurriedly along.

"The treatment centre."

Kieren blinked. "Sorry?"

"Treatment centre," Simon said again, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "That's where I got the scar. I responded to the medication first, so they asked to do experiments on me- I just wanted to be better. And you're right, I don't tell yeh everything- I told you we were getting death threats, but that wasn't all. There were other letters, creepy ones, I didn't want to tell yeh in case it scared you, last thing you want is to know you're a target for PDS fetishists. I decided to deal with them myself, and that was a mistake- I should have told you, I know yeh can handle yourself, and I'm sorry."

Kieren took a moment to process the sudden onslaught of information. He had plenty more questions to ask- things about his time in the treatment centre, what kinds of experiments he'd been subjected to, the contents of those letters. But he pushed them aside in favour of a more pressing matter. "Simon, why're you telling me all this now?"

Simon shrugged, shuffling his feet. "I haven't been honest with you, Kieren," he said quietly, regretfully. "And I want that to change- I don't want yeh to think I'm holding back or pushing you away or anything…"

"Well, if we're being honest…" Kieren said slowly, testing the water. "What happened at the party? The one in New York?"

"What d'you mean?"

"I saw yeh talking to that woman, Si," Kieren said, trying to keep the accusation out of his voice. "I saw her give you her card. Who was she?"

Simon nodded, fishing said card from his jacket pocket. "Natasha Barton- _Glamour _magazine. Offered me a job; resident photographer."

"Oh," Kieren said quietly, taking the card and looking down at the neatly embossed text.

"That's why I asked yeh if you got any more offers," Simon continued, shrugging and taking the card back. "Apart from _Vogue, _I mean."

Kieren shook his head. "Simon, I don't get it, what does that have to do with-?"

Simon rolled his eyes, sighing heavily and tearing the card in half. "Because I told them that if they didn't invite you, too, then they could just stuff it."

Kieren gaped at him. "You serious?"

"Well, yeah," Simon said with an amused chuckle as he dropped the torn shreds into the remainder of Gary's beer. "Wouldn't be where I am now without yeh, would I? Not gonna dump yeh just for some cushy job in the quote-unquote 'Land of the Free'."

"Simon, why-?" Kieren began, still trying to wrap his head round it.

Simon silenced him with a kiss, quick and chaste, but more than enough to stop his mouth before he embarked on yet another self-deprecating ramble. "Kier," he said quietly as he pulled back, smiling. "How many times do I 'ave to tell you you're perfect before yeh start to believe it?"

Kieren stared at him, every bit the roguish charmer he'd first fallen for and so much more. He looked at that damn cigarette tucked behind his ear, at those white eyes that would never lie unless to protect him, at those broad shoulders and chest he could always count on to be there when he just needed to bury his face and hide, those strong hands that would happily pick up the slack and fight off his demons whenever he couldn't.

For the first time, Kieren really started to believe that what they had was the real thing. The kind of thing that could last. Over their heads the song changed, slow and gentle to wind down the evening, he thought he recognised the tune. He grinned, reaching out to take Simon's hand and leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Come on," he murmured, standing up and tugging on his hand. "Let's dance."

"With pleasure," Simon said back, allowing Kieren to lead him to the floor.

When they got there Kieren turned to face the Irish man, planting his hands on his waist and leaning in to rest his head against his neck. He felt Simon's arms go to his shoulders, his fingers tapping his back in rhythm to the music.

"La Vie en Rose," he murmured, nuzzling against Kieren's hair slightly. "Love this song."

Kieren nodded, smiling against his shoulder.

"Kieren?"

He pulled back, looking at Simon questioningly.

"Why did you turn it down?" Simon asked gently, seeming genuinely mystified. "The offer from _Vogue?_"

Kieren shrugged, hands tightening on Simon's waist. "I don't need it."

He smiled at Simon, hands tracing up his sides. "Sure, a bit of extra cash would've been great, but… I'm happy where I am," he grinned, resting his forehead against Simon's and closing his eyes.

"Besides, I don't need the whole world to look at me," he whispered. "Just you."

He leaned in, touching his lips gently to Simon's, feeling his photographer's mouth move beneath his, their bodies still swaying slightly to the lilting music. It wasn't the deepest kiss they'd ever shared, nor the most passionate. Even so, with all the words said between them, making a future for them seem more likely and more wonderful than ever before, it was easily the best.

When they broke apart they didn't move far, instead leaning forward and dancing cheek to cheek. He felt Simon's breath on his skin as he whispered, for his ears only.

"I love you, Kieren…"

Kieren smiled, closing his eyes and holding him tighter.

"I love you, too."

* * *

"_Hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell you cast_

_This is la vie en rose_

_When you kiss me Heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes_

_I see la vie en rose_

_When you press me to your heart, I'm in a world apart_

_A world where roses bloom_

_And when you speak, angels sing from above_

_Everyday words seem to turn into love songs_

_Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be_

_La vie en rose…"_

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**Well, there you have it!**

**Hope that was worth the wait, my lovelies- I'll try and get you that epilogue before too long!**

**Until next time! X**


	6. Epilogue

**Hello, hello!**

**Just a quick little epilogue for y'all! If you liked the ending last chapter and wanna keep it, then don't read this because this is a massive hunk of solid fluff and I know some people like more realistic endings (okay, not many people, but I won't judge you if you do!)**

**Enjoy!**

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**Epilogue**

* * *

Maybe it was his job, maybe his artistic streak, maybe it was just the simple fact of his falling in love with a photographer, but when Kieren looks back on his life now it's like seeing it as a series of snapshots. They vary in quality, in colour, in tone and voice, but each one matches up to a specific memory, a time or place he remembers- either because he wants to, or because he must.

That night at the party, those first whispered 'I love you's, had felt like a new beginning. But however simple their lives had seemed in that one crystallising moment, the world is ever-changing.

Triumphs and tribulations come and go, and over the years they'd had their fair share of ups and downs. It hasn't been easy- the threat of their studio being shut down had reared its ugly head on more than one occasion, and human stupidity is an unlimited resource.

But they have never once stopped fighting. That's what counts, in the end. They struggle, but they live, and when the bad days happen- as they always must- they don't allow them to soil the good days.

In between suspensions, boycotts and riots, they've kept going. _In The Flesh _is still going strong. They've both had chances to move on a couple of times, but why should they? Taking the leap into the unknown takes courage, that much is true. But the most courageous he's ever felt is by Simon's side, clinging onto their dream and their livelihood, keeping the it afloat even in the choppiest waters when it would have been simpler to just jump ship.

That old magazine had seen quite some action over the years- new deals, new allies, new contracts. Simon himself was responsible for the magazines most renowned photo shoots, and Kieren was no longer his only subject (which was definitely a good thing, no matter how often the Irish man complained). Artists, models, musicians and entertainers, living and PDS alike, all supporters of the cause. Vibrant people with creative souls, not limited by their condition, not downtrodden by their place in society.

It's far from perfect, but every day things get better. He can look back over the last decade and track the march of progress through his internal scrapbook, the snapshots decorating the pages cover to cover.

One year after the night their new life began, a violent mass shooting brought PDS rights back under serious discussion, the tragic event garnering sympathy from the public as thirteen undead lives were lost.

Three years, and the Give-Back scheme was discontinued.

Four years, and a young PDS girl walked up to Kieren and hugged him around the waist, thanking him in her shy nine year-old way for showing her it's okay not to hide her face.

Five years, the segregation was on its way out, shops and bars and everywhere else beginning to break down their barriers.

Six years, and the remaining segregated areas faced backlash from their communities, death threats and protests included (a little extreme for Kieren's taste, but _c'est la vie_).

Eight years, and the last travel bans were lifted, passports re-issued as the government finally got started on the slow process of re-citizenising its undead populace.

Nine years, and Kieren watched with a glowing heart as several living children in the park rushed to the aid of their PDS friend, helping the eternal eight year-old to his feet and sending the bullies packing.

Eleven years, and whatever power and respectability the Victus party held disappeared overnight after a controversial statement from ex-MP Maxine Martin threw the party's underhanded methods into the harsh light of day.

Twelve years, and a new PDS rights bill has finally been passed.

This is where he is now, almost twelve years to the day since that first dance, and once again Amy and Philip are throwing a celebration. This one, however, is far more important. Because now, with her re-citizenship successful and her rights restored, they can finally switch out that diamond engagement ring she's been wearing for over a decade for a gold wedding band.

It had been shaky, at first. Living-PDS marriages were still a new concept, and finding people to agree to aid the ceremony was quite the task. But Kieren's biggest worry had been Amy, and how she'd cope knowing that her husband would age and eventually die while she stayed the same, stuck in her prison of undead limbo. He remembers one heart to heart months before the wedding, gently bringing it up with her, asking if she was okay with it. She'd laughed and tossed her hair, beaming as she replied: "Well, s'pose we'll have to make the next sixty years count, eh?"

Needless to say, their plans had forged ahead- there was absolutely no point trying to dissuade Amy Dyer when she had her heart set on something. And her heart was definitely the one doing the talking these days.

No expense was spared- flowers, balloons, cakes, everything Amy had ever dreamed of in a white wedding. They'd planned on having it in a church, but had opted for an outdoor ceremony at the last minute. With the weather forecast so good, it would have been a shame not to.

Breaking convention, Amy had decided she'd rather have a best man than a maid of honour. And with Philip in need of a best man himself, Kieren found himself filling both vacancies. Well, technically he shared the position with someone else, but that someone also had an important job to do as wedding photographer.

As Amy and Philip stand together at the makeshift altar, gazing lovingly into each other's eyes while the vicar reads the familiar passage, Kieren takes the time to look around the congregation, smiling wider at every familiar face.

Jem sits on the front row, in a beautiful dress as blue as her hair. She turned thirty-two several months ago, slowly increasing the age gap between her and her forever eighteen big-little brother, but you wouldn't know it to look at her. The only signs of age on her face are soft crinkles at her eyes and mouth, lines forged from twelve years of laughter. She's still beautiful, still so alive- and give her the right song and her steely eyes still light up with the fire of a thousand angry punk rockers. Much to Kieren's delight and her disbelief, her foray into the world of music had paid off. She's already been a guest in their photography studio several times- a popular song-writer, best known for her work with the PDS band 'Dead Headz'. Kieren has every one of their album and EP covers on his wall, the names of her songs circled proudly in red ink.

Sue and Steve sit beside her, smiling warmly at him where he stands at Philip's back. Steve retired a few years ago, when Jem settled down to her new job and bought her own place in the city. They're still together, living in that old family home, and though they joke all the time about how boring it is now their kids have flown the nest he knows they're happy.

Shirley is there, sobbing into her handkerchief with a grin plastered to her face- she still works with them from time to time, assisting her new daughter-in-law with the wardrobe department. Tom Russo sits beside her, patting her shoulder- those two were inseparable these days. Dean loiters towards the back, trying his best to be stealthy about the fact that he's playing his Nintendo DS behind the seats- he moved to England about four years back, claiming to be homesick for the country of his birth, and swiftly landed a low-key security job with their magazine. So many faces in the crowd, old and new, and yet it's always the same one he finds himself drawn to.

He looks over Philip's shoulder, past Amy's beaming face to the front row of the bride's side, follows the faint sound of a camera shutter clicking and catches Simon's eye.

Simon beams at him, warmer than the sunlight streaming from the sky. Kieren can do nothing but grin back.

As the pastor pronounces them man and wife, Amy and Philip can barely contain their giddy laughter as they kiss before the congregation. Everyone cheers, Kieren loudest of all.

As Philip sweeps his laughing wife into his arms and carries her down the aisle, Kieren falls easily into step beside his photographer, matching his grin.

"About time, eh?" Kieren mutters.

Simon chuckles in response, switching his camera to one hand so he can squeeze Kieren's with the other. "Too right. Reckon we're in for a night to remember!"

* * *

As expected, 'Dead Headz' rocked the reception.

It's past two in the morning, and Kieren feels he could quite happily stay up all night.

He sits at one of the abandoned dining tables, gazing happily at the slow dancing couples on the floor. He'll say this much about Jem's band- they really go above and beyond for occasions. They've been playing on and off for the last five hours and showed no signs of stopping. They didn't even need prompting from Jem- in fact, the song writer herself was currently at the bar smoothly chatting up one of the attractive young members of the _In The Flesh _editing crew.

Sue and Steve dance together near the edge of the floor, smiling into each other's shoulders as they sway in time to the music. Shirley and Tom dance not far from them, grinning from ear to ear as Philip approaches them bearing fresh glasses of wine. And Dean… well, Dean's at the bar playing _Super Smash Bros., _but he _is_ tapping his foot along to the music.

He looks to the centre of the floor, and his heart warms as he sees Amy. She's practically glowing, with a smile to launch a thousand ships. When she twirls her wedding dress (specially made by her beautiful genius hands, of course) billows around her legs, the layers of carefully constructed petticoats rippling like waves on a beach.

Dancing with her, clasping her hand and laughing along, is Simon Monroe.

And though Kieren will never admit it to Amy (it is _her _day, after all), it's looking at Simon tonight that takes his useless breath away.

Twelve years, and the Irish photographer is a beautiful now as the day they met. The perks of eternal youth. Not that it mattered much to Kieren, mind- he reckoned he'd still be head over heels for the man even if he had salt and pepper hair and crow's feet. In fact, he'd probably pull them off.

He looks down to his hands, smiling down at the napkin he's been sketching on, the pen in his hands marking the curve of Simon's ear. After so many years of practise, he barely has to look at the paper when he wants to draw his photographer.

Immortality didn't seem quite the curse it had before. Sure, they wouldn't last forever- one day they'd be hit, or shot, or suffer some horrible accident. Heck, maybe their PDS state had an expiration date and one day they'd simply cease to function. But either way, they had a lot more time on their hands than most people. Kieren couldn't think of anyone he'd rather spend it with.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

He looks up, and meets Simon's smile with one of his own. "Getting' tired?"

"Yeah, right," Simon snorts, dropping into the seat at Kieren's back and leaning his head on his shoulder. "Just thought I'd come see what yeh were up to- you've been pretty quiet."

"Just thoughtful," Kieren says, resting his head against Simon's. "And... well, just happy, I guess."

"Yeah, me too," Simon murmurs, kissing Kieren's cheek. He reaches over to the table, picking up his camera and switching it on. "Been a great day for photos- reckon I'll make 'em an album, as a late wedding present."

"Cheapskate," Kieren sniggers, taking the camera and flicking through the pictures on the screen with a knowing smirk. "Y'know it's _their _wedding, right?"

"What's your point?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just, well, they might not appreciate that about seventy percent of these pictures are of me," Kieren says without venom.

"There can never be too many pictures of you in the world," Simon smiles, reaching his arms around Kieren to hold his hands from behind.

"Yeah, but you're biased," Kieren laughs, setting the camera back on the table so he can return Simon's grip.

"True," Simon chuckles, gently burying his chin in the crook of Kieren's neck.

Kieren closes his eyes, leaning back into the contact. Even now, twelve years on, he can still feel the tingle of butterflies in his stomach whenever they touch. It's like his dead body wakes up whenever they're close, his black blood pumping warm and alive through his veins.

The song changes, and though there's more rock and roll drum and guitar than he remembers, he knows the tune immediately.

Obviously Simon does, too. "Looks like they're playing our song," he beams, nuzzling Kieren's neck.

"Yeah," Kieren says, eyes still closed. "Bet Amy put 'em up to it."

"Most likely," Simon says, pulling back slightly. "Feel like dancing?"

Kieren winces. "Is it bad that I just want to sit like this for a long as possible?"

"Nah," Simon laughs, returning to his comfy position on Kieren's shoulder. "I'd like that, too."

They return to their comfortable silence, the music rolling through the air around them. Simon starts to absentmindedly move his fingers, tracing circles on the back of Kieren's hands.

"Twelve years," he murmurs into Kieren's ear, and Kieren can hear the disbelieving smile in his voice.

"Twelve years," Kieren confirms with a matching grin. "How about that?"

"Y'know what?" Simon says softly, flirtatiously.

"What?"

"This country has come further than I ever thought possible," he says quietly, for Kieren's ears only. "In fact, I can't help noticing that both PDS marriage _and _same-sex marriage are legal here, now…"

A smile breaks across Kieren's face before he can stop it. "S'pose they are… not getting any ideas, are yeh?"

"No, no," Simon says unconvincingly, the patterns he traces on Kieren's left hand moving to his ring finger. "Well, maybe one or two…"

They fall back into easy silence, all the words waiting to be said put aside for the time being.

They have all the time in the world.

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**Well, this is a big thing- this is officially the first ITF multi-chapter I've ever completed! Hopefully two more should be following suit soon :D**

**Thank you all so, so much- every single one of your reviews and comments and incoherent squeals makes this worth doing, and I'm super grateful to every single one of you who's stuck this story out to the end. What can I say, it's been a blast!**

**See ya on the other side, homies! (Except those of you who are also following IOL, I'll see you guys tomorrow xD)**


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